


Causatum

by aozu



Series: Someone Told Me (Que tu m'aimais encore) [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Avengers Movies Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Gen, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-05
Updated: 2012-11-12
Packaged: 2017-11-13 15:09:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 25,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/504821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aozu/pseuds/aozu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The aftermath, as how I see it. An apology has never been so difficult.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I always felt there was a distinct lack of closure between Steve and Tony in the movie. The handshake was nice, but it didn't really solve anything. Both of them had cut each other so deep with their words in the helicarrier, fishing out points that they both were keeping inside, and also that moment when Steve gave the order to close the portal- I do not believe that Steve would not blame himself as a cause of Tony's possible death.
> 
> Hence, this fic was born.

The first time, he calls it the big ugly building in New York. Now, looking at it closer, he isn't so sure anymore. Of course, it's looming- uncomfortably big at that, and it takes up way more space because of its startling presence. Like its owner. It demands attention. Right now, it demands attention in other ways, because the Stark tower had gone through much destructive damage from the alien invasion, courtesy of Loki. The top half is covered with metal sticks and white sheets of construction, and only the letter A is left remaining. Still, it looks pretty posh and expensive as do all the sky scrapers do in the twenty first century, and manages to do more..futuristic...-ish.  
  
He isn't sure what to classify it anymore now that he's been staring at it restlessly for the past hour, coffee long gone in the mug in his hands.  
  
Truthfully, it looks like a llama from this angle, but he'd keep that thought to himself.  
  
"Sir, would you like me to clear that cup?"  
  
Steve blinks, eyes shifting to a smiley blonde waitress. He has been sitting at a cafe opposite the Grand Central Station for a while now, and he's pretty sure he's just taking up space since his coffee is done.  
  
"Sir?"  
  
"Oh um," he smiles awkwardly. "Yeah, I was just about to leave—"  
  
She giggles good naturedly, and takes his empty mug. "Are you hoping to catch a glimpse of Iron man?" she asks in conversation. "You've been staring at the tower since you came in."  
  
Steve nods slowly. "I just..well..."  
  
"Well, you're not the only one, sir," she says, cocking her head to another table nearby. "After all that's happened, a lot of people have been hanging about in hopes to meet him."  
  
"I see," he answers after some thought. "Have you seen him then?"  
  
"Oh yeah," she grins. "Before, though, not after," she elaborates quickly after that. "Tony Stark used to be quite...attention catching when he leaves his house, but as of late he's become more discreet. I wager he has a secret passageway that lets him leave unnoticed. Your trip here might be a bit of a waste, sorry about that."  
  
"It wasn't a waste," he corrects. "I had some time off and didn't know what to do—and um, the coffee was great," he replies sincerely.  
  
The waitress beams in return. "You're welcome to stay as long as you like, sir. Have a good day."  
  
He responds the same as she leaves to attend to other customers. His eyes immediately travel back to the tower, and he sighs. _You have to do this, Steve_ , he tells himself. _You were wrong, and you owe him that much._  
  
He owes Tony Stark an apology.  
  
There hadn't been much time in the aftermath for a proper conversation. The city was in destructive chaos. Everyone had been fussed over by the medics and agents at S.H.I.E.L.D, separated to have their own checkups and treatments. By the time Steve was deemed worthy enough to get out of the clinic, he was too tired to deal with anything else, only heading straight for the room S.H.I.E.L.D had prepared for him. Come next morning, Natasha and Clint were sent to help with the reconstruction efforts, Bruce had left the headquarters, and Thor was with Loki. Tony was apparently whisked away last night because of the overwhelming pressure of things needed by his company.  
  
There wasn't anything that Steve needed to do, so he helped out with the reconstruction efforts and met Natasha and Clint on the field from time to time. It was only when the group gathered to send Loki and Thor back to their own world that they met again as a whole group.  
  
It was slightly strange, seeing everyone in...not a suit. Except for Tony, but his was a _suit_ suit. Not a superhero suit. It was a short moment, merely a meet up. They exchanged greetings and too soon they witnessed a teleportation. And it was time to leave.  
  
"Well, that was rather anti-climatic," Tony states after a two second hush of silence. "I've got a tower to renovate so chop chop big guy, before Pepper finds out that you're bunking with us now."  
  
"I really think you should inform her," Bruce sighs, but clearly he has gotten used to Tony, because he doesn't comment on it further. "I'll get my stuff."  
  
Bruce heads towards Natasha's and Clint's car, and that leaves Steve alone with Tony.  
  
Tony isn't really looking at him. After all they've been through, Steve isn't really sure how he classifies himself with the genius billionaire playboy philanthropist. Captain America and Iron man work great on field, brilliantly, in fact, but he isn't so sure about Steve Rogers and Tony Stark. After all, all the conversations he has had with the man were bickers, until the invasion happened.  
  
"Mr Stark," he starts, mouth slightly dry. He isn't really sure where he's going with this, and he sticks out his hand. He doesn't really know what to say, so he just blurts out whatever that comes to mind. "Good to see that you're alive."  
  
And it's true. He hasn't seen Tony since they ate Sharwarma.  
  
Tony stares at him underneath his sunglasses for a few hard seconds, and grasps his hand in return. "I knew you missed me, Cap," he grins.  
  
Steve doesn't really know how to answer to that, so he just smiles in return. Just then, Bruce walks past with a bag slung over his shoulder in tow, heading towards Tony's convertible.  
  
"Ah, well, got to jet," Tony squeezes his hand one more time before letting go, strutting to the driver's seat. "See you around, Cap."  
  
Steve nods, and waves to Bruce in front passenger seat. "Yeah, sure." He isn't sure if Tony heard him at all, because the obnoxiously red car speeds off into the street.  
  
A hand on his shoulder jolts him a little, and it's only Natasha. "Cap, we're heading back to the headquarters," she informs him, and Clint who is standing by their car gives a causal salute with a grin. "No, you don't need to come today—it's just a boring meeting for S.H.E.I.L.D agents."  
  
"Alright," he answers. "Be careful," he says on habit as they both get into the car, and Clint is definitely amused at the way he waves goodbye, driving off to the main road.  
  
He's left alone with the motorcycle he had came in with, and he mounts it. He doesn't really know what to do, so he shrugs and explores the city for the day. He passes by the Stark tower and looks at it curiously, but he doesn't linger around much. He moves on and discovers that Apple and Blackberry aren't fruits anymore.  
  
That was a week ago, and strangely enough he finds himself passing by the Stark tower in his free time. He knows why he's doing this—it's because he feels like something between him and Tony isn't quite right. It doesn't feel like they're enemies, I mean, they aren't, but they aren't quite friends either.  
  
Then again, he isn't quite sure if that's what he wants either.  
  
All he knows is that he had judged Tony wrong.  
  
 _Big man in a suit of armour. Take that away, and what are you?_  
  
Wrong.  
  
 _I know guys with none of that worth ten of you. I've seen the footage. The only thing you fight for is yourself. You're not the guy to make the sacrifice play. To lay down on a wire to let the other guy crawl all over you._  
  
Wrong.  
  
 _Always a way out._  
  
Wrong.  
  
Wrong. Wrong.  
  
He was never so wrong about anyone.  
  
A minute more of deliberation and Steve finally stands up, smiling a bit to the waitress who served him earlier before making his way across the street. He stands outside the entrance of the Stark tower for a few moments, feeling overwhelmed by the sheer…size and intensity of the building. It's classy, full of glass and metal and the cool air that greets him when the doorman lets him in.  
  
He feels quite out of place in his plaid shirt and khakis. It's all empty inside, except for a long walkway, quite the contrast to the busy street life outside. He wonders why so many people often walk past and stare from the outside—no one has actually entered the building despite all the curious looks, only him. There is a receptionist at the left side, and he approaches her.  
  
"Ma'am," he greets politely. "Is Mr Stark in?"  
  
She is a redhead with sharp cropped hair and features that remind him of Natasha. "Do you have an appointment, sir?"  
  
"Appointment? No, I um, I just wanted to talk to him—"  
  
"Mr Stark is unfortunately out of the country for the time being," she tells him firmly, with practiced regret that even Steve can see through. "I apologise for the inconvenience."  
  
"When will he be back?"  
  
"It's hard to say," she replies. "Mr Stark did not want his travel details disclosed."  
  
It's obvious that the receptionist is trying to make him leave, but Steve is positive that Tony is in. He doesn't know why, but there's a strong feeling.  
  
"Could I make an appointment, then?" he persists.  
  
The redhead purses her lips, and then touches a glass screen that suddenly explodes with lines of colour. "Mr Stark's schedule is booked fully a month after which he decides to return—"  
  
"It doesn't matter," he interrupts. "I just need to talk to him."  
  
"Sir—"  
  
"Please," he states, eyes unblinking. "It's…important."  
  
She stares back for a moment, then drops a sigh. "Very well. Your name, sir?"  
  
Steve manages not to smile too wide in victory. "Steve Rogers."  
  
The receptionist nods as her fingers fly over the glass screen, but a second later she pauses, the images on the glass halting dramatically. "You—Are you…"  
  
She never gets to finish the sentence, because a set of clicking heels comes down the pathway from the inside. "Sarah, add a reminder for Mr Stark for a board of director's meeting at nine thirty tomorrow—" The lady does not stop in her tracks when she notices Steve, only to let her eyes linger on him when she comes up. "Do not listen to whatever changes Mr Stark might try to make—please, for your sake and mine."  
  
The receptionist—Sarah—nods curtly and brings up another wave of colour on the glass screen, typing furiously.  
  
Steve watches on silently, because it's just been confirmed that Tony is definitely not out of the country.  
  
"Captain Rogers," the new lady turns to him smiling. "It's a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance."  
  
"The pleasure is all mine, Ma'am," he answers carefully, shaking the hand she offers.  
  
She giggles amused for a short moment. "I'm Virgina Potts, but Pepper is fine. I've heard a lot about you."  
  
He doesn't know what to say to that, because he can't exactly reply the same in return. He's heard the name Pepper from Tony in fleeting mentions a few times, but it's not enough to say that he really knows who she is except Tony's girlfriend.  
  
"So, what brings you to the Stark tower?"  
  
"I'm looking for Mr Stark," he tells her honestly.  
  
"Tony's up in his makeshift lab—he's been whining about the space ever since the top few floors were destroyed, but he'll live," she replies. "Come on, I'll take you to him."  
  
Steve shoots a glance over to the receptionist who smiles at him in return, and hurries after Pepper's fast steps back into the hallway which she came from. "I'm not intruding or anything, am I?" he suddenly asks, nervous. "I mean, if Mr Stark is busy, then, I could always come another day—"  
  
Pepper laughs, shaking her head. "If anything, your intrusion is most definitely welcome. Someone needs to get Tony out of that lab to eat, and Dr Banner is just as bad as him. Not on most days," she relents. "Fortunately enough."  
  
They reach an elevator at the end, and the door slides open.  
  
"Welcome back, Miss Potts," an automated British voice resounds once they step in, and Steve jerks in surprise. "Good afternoon, Captain Rogers."  
  
He doesn't know where the sound is coming from except from all walls of the lift and it spooks him out quite a bit. "Uh, good afternoon, sir," he replies.  
  
"That's JARVIS, an AI that Tony programmed a few years back," Pepper explains to him helpfully when she sees his reaction. "JARVIS, back to the eightieth floor if you would please. Also, please do not inform Mr Stark about our arrival."  
  
"As you wish, Miss Potts."  
  
Vaguely Steve notices that the elevator has no buttons at all, merely sleek metal and glass that he peers out as they ascend rapidly into the air.  
  
"What's an AI?" he asks curiously.  
  
"Artificial intelligence," Pepper answers him with a look on her face that tells him she realises something. "JARVIS takes cares of most things in the Stark tower, such as security and management. It's like having a butler, but in computerised form."  
  
He kind of understands, but it's just too amazing to think that all those sci-fi books he had once read were literally alive in front of him now.  
  
The lift halts too soon at their intended level. The door slides open, and Steve is greeted by a white frame and a glass door. Beyond the door, there is a mess of metal and robotic parts and chemicals and bottles. It seems like the room is separated into two, but the sheer amount of things lying about make it hard to tell. Sparks are visible from deeper within. Pepper touches the glass near the handle of the door in some sequence and the door pops open.  
  
Suddenly his auditory senses are slammed with loud jamming of electric guitar and drums and it nearly deafens him permanently. Thankfully Pepper has the same sentiments.  
  
"JARVIS, mute the music!" she shouts, cringing.  
  
"—wha, hey! Who dares to—" there's a indignant shout from deeper, and Steve sees the visible sparks die down before Tony emerges from behind a robotic arm that clicks at him. "Pepper?" Tony blinks curiously, pushing up his goggles. "I thought you just left—"  
  
"Yes," she cuts him off before it goes into a ramble. "I bumped into Captain Rogers at the lobby, so I brought him up."  
  
It's almost comical how Tony flicks his gaze upon him like he can't believe it. His expression suddenly goes still, and his eyes dart back and forth between Steve and Pepper quickly. "Pepper—" he starts.  
  
"He came to talk to you," Pepper states unmercifully. "And I have some shopping to do."  
  
Tony looks unhappy, but at the tone of Pepper's voice he doesn't protest. "Is that all, Miss Potts?"  
  
"That would be all, Mr Stark," she gives him a meaningful look, and turns on her heel. "I'll see you around, Captain," she smiles at Steve, patting his arm before exiting the lab.  
  
Steve finds himself fidgeting uncomfortably, because he knows Tony doesn't want him here. Tony's body language tells him everything, and it makes the pit in his stomach clench. "Mr Stark, I—"  
  
"You haven't been in here since hulk thrashed reindeer gates, have you?" Tony talks over him, face changing into a fake relaxed grin. "Well, Cap, my tower is about to blow your mind, because—"  
  
"Mr Stark—"  
  
"—I'm sure Fury keeps you in his tight little box and you haven't seen all the amazing shit like, like, holograms!" Tony gestures something in the air, and light appears at his fingertips. Despite how horribly off topic they have come, Steve can't help but be enhanced by the sheer magic of it all. "—the most useful thing I've ever invented, except maybe JARVIS—"  
  
"I'm honoured, sir."  
  
"—shush, no one asked for your opinion," Tony waves in the air. "Seventy years as a Capsicle must be a great shock, I mean, do you even know what a coffee maker is?"  
  
Steve frowns. "Yes, I know what a coffee maker is—"  
  
"But you don't know mine," Tony counters with a smug look. He swipes at some pictures that project in the air and it follows his fingers movements, and then expands a design of some machine so large that it takes up the whole space. "See here, I added a—"  
  
"Mr Stark—"  
  
"I think I'll just go get some…coffee," a cough interrupts, and Bruce looks distinctly awkward at one corner. He sets down a tube of chemical he was holding and rubs his hands on his pants. "Good to see you, Cap."  
  
"Likewise, Dr Banner," Steve greets. "I'm sorry, I wasn't aware that you were in the room."  
  
Bruce smiles at him. "It's alright. Do you want anything to drink, Captain?"  
  
"No, no, it's fine."  
  
"Well, I want—"  
  
"No more for you, Tony," Bruce shoots a look at Tony before he even finishes his sentence. "You drank eight cups since this morning, and it's not even three yet."  
  
Steve knows he must've looked horrified at the amount of caffeine Tony was ingesting.  
  
"Pssh, I used to do twelve, until Pepper threatened to sell out my booze collection. I don't really care because I can just buy all that stuff back anyway, but Point Break gave me this bottle of mead and I swear to you it's Asgardian shit, because I—"  
  
Bruce has already walked off for presumably coffee.  
  
"Mr Stark!" Steve sighs, grabbing Tony by the shoulders in the attempt to get his attention.  
  
Tony seems to snap out of it, staring at him with wide eyes.  
  
"Mr Stark," he begins again, this time, more gently.  
  
"Can you not call me that?" Tony interrupts before he can continue, and by god Steve wanted to bang his head against the wall.  
  
"Call you what?"  
  
"Mr Stark," Tony sniffs, crossing his arms. "I'm not old, unlike you old man. Only those boring geezers on my director's board call me that and that's because I'm paying them to falsify respect."  
  
Steve ignores the jibe. "So what do you want me to call you then?"  
  
"Master, the god of my life, my King, my Liege, your Grace—"  
  
"Tony," Steve settles on finally. "I have to talk to you."  
  
Tony steps back, and pretends to prod at the metal on his desk. "Yeah yeah, I gathered that when Pepper told me," he answers flippantly. "So what do you want?"  
  
"I want to apologise."  
  
The words were hard to say, but Steve manages to force them out before he slips into a silent cycle. He knows Tony has been avoiding the subject ever since he stepped in, and the only way is to get it out there fast and direct.  
  
"Apology accepted," Tony shrugs. "Is that all?"  
  
Steve stills, because that is not how he expected it would go. He opens his mouth once and closes it when no sound comes out. He must have stood there silently for quite a while because Tony actually stops in his mindless prodding to glance at him.  
  
"You okay there, Cap?"  
  
"…Do you even know what I'm apologising for?" Steve manages out.  
  
"It doesn't really matter, does it?" Tony answers. "You wanted to apologise, I accepted, we're cool, so hey, you wanna move in? I mean, the big guy is here already, and I've got plans to bring Legolas and killer lady in—"  
  
This time, Steve is at the end of his fuse and he doesn't think he can take it anymore. "I'M SERIOUS, TONY!" he shouts, and the silence after that is deafening. "I'm…I'm sorry," he apologies, first for the outburst. "I'm sorry about what I said in the helicarrier. I didn't mean it—"  
  
"Don't lie, Captain, it's not very becoming of you," Tony states, and for once, his expression is as flat as he has ever seen.  
  
"Alright, I did mean it," Steve accedes. "But not anymore. I judged too quickly. I didn't realise—"  
  
"Look, Cap," Tony cuts him off. "Just let me say this, okay? _I don't want to talk about it._ There. The only reason you're here is because you feel guilty, isn't it? You said some stuff, I said some stuff, Loki's mind control, blah blah blah, let's get over it, shall we?"  
  
Steve swallows and then nods curtly. "I understand…I'll see you around then, Mr Stark." He turns around before he can see any reaction from Tony. "But…you were right," he murmurs softly, half way towards the exit. "I…I'm nothing without that super soldier serum and I…I'm not a hero, I'm just…" he exhales, and leaves with a final word. "Sorry."  
  
Tony doesn't know how long he had been staring after the retreating figure until it disappears, because the next thing he's aware of is when Bruce snaps a finger in front of him, sipping a cup of coffee that he sorely wants.  
  
"Are you okay?"  
  
"I'm fine," Tony responds automatically, waving him away.  
  
"I heard everything you know," Bruce continues.  
  
"The walls are soundproofed."  
  
"I had JARVIS stream the audio."  
  
Tony glares at the ceiling. "Traitor!" he hisses. "And you," he points to Bruce with a screwdriver in hand. "Invasion of privacy, I'm suing your socks off."  
  
Bruce rolls his eyes. "Why won't you let him apologise?"  
  
"Because Captain America is a dick, that's why—"  
  
"Tony," Bruce frowns, and pats his shoulder. "Tony, listen to me. The guy means it, okay?"  
  
"None of my business."  
  
"You hurt him equally well, you know."  
  
Tony pauses. "I'm not hurt."  
  
"He's the guy that your father—"  
  
"I don't want to talk about it!" Tony snaps, and he knows that Bruce has made his point. "I…I'm trying so _damn_ hard—" he breaks off before his voice edges into the cracking territory, and smoothes it into his usual manner. "Can't we just skip the whole feelings part and get to the whole hang out like buddies part?"  
  
"Is that what you were going for?"  
  
"It wasn't working?'  
  
"No, it wasn't."  
  
"Oh. Oh well then."


	2. Chapter 2

  
Bruce doesn't bring up any more after that conversation, and Tony pushes the issue back to the corner of his mind. He busies himself with equations and probabilities and designs and he doesn't think anymore, only to let his genius out on auto to invent whatever his mind can conjure. At the moment, he's deliberating the atomic structure of an element that could fuse with silica oxide and form glass so strong that not even the hulk can smash through. After all, what's the point in rebuilding those top floors with flimsy material that might break again?  
  
S.H.I.E.L.D had an idea going when they built that glass tank for Bruce, but obviously, they weren't smart enough.  
  
It's not that Tony wants to keep Bruce caged in like those idiots—au contraire, he's doing this because he wants to give assurance to the big guy. Bruce has constantly put it out there that he's not exactly a hundred percent comfortable in residing in the Stark tower, because, as the guy puts it, "I broke Harlem." It's bad enough that Tony insists on free rent and food and everything because he's Tony Stark—don't deny it, he's so rich he doesn't need all that money. Even if the hulk does trash his tower for some reason, he's got other houses to live in, and rebuilding just means that he gets to change the décor of the interior.  
  
So the idea is to make his tower untrashable, therefore there would be absolutely no reason for Bruce to worry about hulking out.  
  
"Sir, if I may, it's currently three thirty a.m," JARVIS suddenly chimes, and Tony rubs his chin, still staring at the hologram of Stark vibranium molecular structure in front of him. "It would be most advisable for you to get some sleep."  
  
"Okay," Tony rolls his eyes, because he definitely did not program his AI to suggest sleeping times. "Did Pepper put you up to that?"  
  
"Monitoring your health is part of my description, sir."  
  
"Bull," Tony snorts, and squints. "I wrote your code, smartass. You scan my body levels when I tell you to, and I definitely did no such thing."  
  
"Miss Potts might have set a reminder," JARVIS accedes.  
  
"What is this, my AI listens to everyone else but me," Tony mutters under his breath.  
  
"Sir, I would like to point out that you coded override six-nine-alpha-five-four in which Miss Potts had activated—"  
  
"—which gives Pepper the authority to overwrite any stupid decisions I make in case I am under the influence of copious amount of alcohol or incoherency, yes, I know," Tony huffs. "In my defense, I've only had those six cups of caffeine all day, and no drop of intoxicating stuff."  
  
"I believe congratulations are in order."  
  
Tony wonders if he programmed _personality_ into his AI. "Mute."  
  
The disembodied voice immediately falls silent, and Tony suddenly realizes the resounding silence that echoes in the lab. Bruce has already retired to rest—he doesn't know when, but he knows the big guy keeps better sleeping habits than he does—and he finds himself alone in the mess of metal and wiring with coloured lines floating around him. He tries to concentrate back to his last thought before JARVIS had interrupted him, but all he gets is a jumble of calculations of protons and neutrons and stability and he claps his palms together, shutting down the holograms.  
  
He just stares into the expense of the lab and wonders what he should do now. He doesn't want to sleep, he knows that much. His body does feel lethargic, but his mind doesn't. His brain is still rocketing off the charts, and the gears are churning, always churning.  
  
He does want to sleep.  
  
But the problem is that he can't.  
  
If he sleeps, he finds himself in that dim, dark, wet cave again. He finds himself cold and afraid. He finds himself useless, at the mercy of someone else. He finds blood all over his hands, and the ice cold water gushing right up his ears. He sees Yinsen's face, and feels the hard clench in his gut that the old man never intended to make it out alive. He doesn't know if he can deal with that anymore, jerking up clammy and sweaty, head spinning and nauseous.  
  
Yet at the same time, if he doesn't sleep, he thinks about it anyway.  
  
"JARVIS, Mark VIII, the Thursday prototype," he commands, and dutifully, an outline of his latest design appears.  
  
Mark VII had gone through quite a bit being in space and all, not something he had foreseen when he made the suit. The next suit would be able to deal with that. Sure, he did deal with the ice problem long ago, but space atmosphere was a different matter. He remembers the chilling moment when the power ran out and all connection was cut—and he remembers how he closed his eyes, resigned, and a million of regrets running across his vision.  
  
 _Big man in a suit of armor, take that off, what are you?_  
  
He had been sorely tempted to retort with a "Naked." response, just to rile the Captain up. Yet hauntingly, it's true in every sense of the word. Without the armor he is helpless, naked as a day born baby, useless. That's the thing. The suit and him are one. Tony knows he is nothing without the suit. Tony as Tony Stark without the suit would've been dead back in Afghanistan. Tony as Tony Stark is a captive; is a business man who made his wealth and fortune from killing people.  
  
 _Iron man yes, Tony Stark not recommended, right?_  
  
He doesn't need the Captain's fake apologies, because he knows deep within that all those words speak the truth. He doesn't need more people to lie about it to his face.  
  
He does fight for himself. Everyday.  
  
He isn't the guy to make the sacrifice play. He does it for himself.  
  
He isn't a hero. He never had been.  
  
He doesn't need anyone to tell him otherwise.  
  
Especially not the _perfect_ Captain America.  
  
Tony can't remember when was the first time he learns about the living legend, because as long as he knows, Howard Stark has never shut up about him, always setting out expeditions to find this Captain America. As a child, he had been sucked into the comic books and cheesy propaganda flims that Howard stashed away in the house. He watched them secretly, because Howard's face would always harden like ice when he sees the faded coloured pages or film reels. All Tony ever wanted to know was why his father spent his life searching for someone else when his own son needed him back at home.  
  
He reads and watches and learns that Captain America is perfect, because he's brave and strong and punched Hilter in the face—and also saves the world. There's no way Tony can ever compete with that.  
  
Yet, Captain America is a dick because he's everything Tony ever expected of him, and more.  
  
He doesn't realize when he had JARVIS pull out the footage recorded during the invasion, when Captain America rushes into a building and tackles two aliens, and then gets sent reeling out of the window when a bomb explodes. Captain raises his head wearily after an impact on the roof of a cab, clutching his abdomen in pain, but he smiles in relief when civilians trapped in the building are able to evacuate.  
  
"O captain, my captain," Tony murmurs against the palm on his cheek.

 

* * *

  
  
Steve has been in the twenty first century for some time now, yet everything still amazes him. He feels overwhelmed at the sights and large blinking lights and at the way some people dress, but what really blows his mind is how fast technology has advanced.  
  
He had done a little bit of sightseeing the first few months when he woke up, but it depresses him more to know that the places he once knew were gone. Everywhere was unfamiliar and new and just _not home_ —and he adjusts just enough not to let things like revolving doors shock him. He gets used to the idea that he's living in the future, something he remembers Bucky saying the first time they go to the Stark expo, and it just all seems like a dream. He adapts well enough, he figures, considering he isn't undergoing massive heart palpitations or screams of denial and all. He can leave the headquarters on his own and find his way back with no trouble as long as he walks around on foot.  
  
Yet Fury had been on to something when the director made that bet. Steve is sure he's seen enough—at least, enough that he wants to—but the helicarrier awed him when he experiences it flying in the air. Throw in the Iron man suit and demi-gods, a ranging hulk and more aliens and magic and Steve isn't sure what else can shock him now.  
  
Strangely enough, everything still does.  
  
He walks casually out of a cinema, feeling dazed. He's had a lot of free time lately, especially since everyone on the Avengers team is supposed to be on indefinite leave—but of course Natasha and Clint are more severely bounded to S.H.I.E.L.D than he is, but he understands that no one will be sent on a mission any time soon. After he buys his motorcycle, he discovers he can roam around a lot more freely, and he does just that. He tries frozen yogurt and bubble tea, and other strange new concoctions he's never seen before. He has asked for recommendations on things that he should try out—Agent Coulson's never been happier to introduce him to several coffee places, and Clint mentions that he should catch a movie at the theater.  
  
It's not film reels and projectors anymore, but a digital screen and clean images with colour and surround sound. The popcorn that he gets with it tastes delicious with salt and caramel, and he sips curiously at the fizzy sweet tang of Coke. The best part yet is those plastic glasses he's made to wear as he watches Titanic in 3D—and everything just seem to come to _life_.  
  
It scares him and amazes him and at the end of the experience he doesn't know what to say.  
  
He finds his motorcycle that he parks not too far away. He mounts it and gets ready to perhaps ride around for a while before he heads back, but his pocket vibrates. He had switched his phone to silent mode as the theater had requested before the movie had started. Pulling the gadget out, he looks at the screen.  
  
It's an unknown number.  
  
Surprisingly enough, the phone that Steve has is not standard issue S.H.I.E.L.D phone. He does have one the first few months, to get used to the idea of speaking on a tiny phone that he can bring everywhere, but last week when he chanced upon an Apple store that does not sell fruits, he was immediately entranced by the simple sleek piece of the iPhone 4S that seemed to be able to do everything. The salesman explains it well enough to him, and he buys one. So far it's been easier to use than the standard issue S.H.I.E.L.D phone and he likes how he can watch videos on it too.  
  
The only thing is that he's worried that he'll drop it or crack it under his strength, but so far he's been careful.  
  
He answers the call with some apprehension. "Captain Rogers speaking."  
  
A burst of laughter sounds over the other line, and Steve frowns in confusion. "—ahaha. Ha. By the way, I totally predicted you answering it with your formal Captain voice and all—"  
  
"Mr Stark?" Steve almost doubles over in surprise, and he looks at his phone curiously.  
  
"Yes, who else were you expecting?" He can see Tony rolling his eyes. "Anyway, I didn't even know you had a phone number but then I remembered S.H.I.E.L.D likes to issue those sucky brick phones and I'm sure Fury would hate to lose his golden boy in the middle of New York city so I hacked into their system—"  
  
Steve is starting to learn that the only way to be heard to basically to talk over Tony. "Did something happen, Mr Stark? Is there an emergency?"  
  
"What, can't I just call up to say hi?"  
  
Actually, no, Steve thinks. He isn't sure if he's the only one feeling bewildered at this extremely random phone call, because the last time he met Tony, it was clear that Tony didn't like him or his presence very much. Why else would Tony need Steve except for Captain America?  
  
"Don't get your tights in a twist, Cap," Tony laughs after a two second silence. "I need you over at the Stark tower. The big guy just hulked out and I—"  
  
It's not that Steve has that little faith in his teammates, but really why were they so reckless? "What? Are you okay? Is Dr Banner—"  
  
"—was just joking," Tony finishes. "No really, just come to the tower, I've got something to show you."  
  
Steve sighs, and breathes deeply into the night air. "Okay," he says finally, because he doesn't know what else to say.  
  
"You do that, Cap."  
  
The line ends abruptly as it had started.  
  
Steve isn't sure where to park his motorcycle, and he hopes it's okay if he just leaves it outside the Stark Tower. He's pretty sure there are security cameras about so his ride is safe, but he just isn't sure if Tony would like it. But anyway, he's probably only here for a short while, so he greets the doorman politely and walks down the long hallway. The receptionist desk is closed, and it makes the whole floor feel even more empty.  
  
He reaches the elevators that he and Pepper used the last time. He tries to find a button to press—as he is used to in all the other places he has encountered a lift—but fails. The door on his right suddenly slides open with a ding that surprises him.  
  
"Good evening, Captain Rogers."  
  
"Oh, thank you," Steve blinks, hurrying into the lift. He recalls JARVIS' existence, and what Pepper had explained to him. "How do I…" he searches again for any button to press, but again, there isn't one.  
  
"Mr Stark is on the seventy fourth floor," JARVIS puts in helpfully, and the elevator just starts moving upwards.  
  
"Thanks," Steve says again.  
  
"A pleasure, Captain."  
  
Its silent in the lift except for some soft elevator music that Steve knows wasn't playing before he stepped in.  
  
"It's…JARVIS, right?" Steve ventures. It feels extremely weird speaking to the air.  
  
"That is correct, Captain. However, you may call me however you wish."  
  
Steve contemplates his next question. "Why does Mr Stark want me here?"  
  
JARVIS pauses. "I believe he called it…a surprise."  
  
"Oh."  
  
So he still doesn't really know why he was called here, and he steels himself for whatever Tony might want to show him later. He's curious, but also wary. The door slides open at the designated floor, and he steps out. Everything is furnished so classy and sleek and expensive that his eyes just travel across the furniture, noting that it's a lounge of sorts.  
  
"Took you long enough, old man."  
  
Steve snaps to look at Tony, who just looks amused, sitting at a square glass table with a pizza in hand. He's in a wifebeater and loose track pants, a far cry from the usual flashy outfits he's usually in. Bruce sits next to him in casual shirt and shorts, and he's drinking something, probably juice.  
  
"Cap," Bruce greets normally. "Do you want some pizza?" he gestures to the box in front of them.  
  
"I've had dinner," Steve replies, unsure whether to come forward or stand where he is.  
  
"Quit looking so frazzled," Tony chides, gesturing him in. "You look like you expect someone to jump you or something."  
  
Steve is about to answer to that, but then Tony suddenly stands up, screeching the chair against the floor.  
  
"Is that an iPhone?" Tony demands, wiping his hands on the side of his shirt after he stuffs the last of his pizza into his mouth. "You're shitting me. Oh god, throw it out," Tony moans, "Better than a Hammeriod, but still an embarrassment. Throw it out, seriously."  
  
Steve grips his phone just a little bit protectively. "But I like it!"  
  
"Yeah yeah and everyone else in the world," Tony sniffs. "The user interface is crap! How can you even use that? It lags, poor sensitivity, you can't even type anything with the auto-correct function. Worst possible design ever, and battery life? So pathetic I don't even have words for it."  
  
"Not everyone has cracked the secret to clean energy," Bruce puts in from the side.  
  
"That's because they are not me," Tony scoffs. "Really. Cap, do me a favour and throw it out, okay? You can even do that thing you like so much, what was it…recycling? Yeah I'm sure you'll love that, tree hugger and all—not that the environment isn't important, I mean, I am at the forefront of clean energy—just get that phone away. Somewhere. I don't care where."  
  
Somewhere in between, Steve just glances at Bruce who shrugs in return.  
  
"JARVIS, send Captain the latest Starkphone prototype and all its accessories—oh, plus the laptop model that was released last Friday. Install that OS I ran the other day on it. I bet Cap doesn't even have a computer and who doesn't have a computer in this century? I mean, really."  
  
"As you wish, sir."  
  
Tony is squinting at him. "Have you even used the internet yet? Or do you even know what it is? Because if you don't I swear to god you're living under a rock. What is Fury doing with you anyway—"  
  
Steve frowns. Yes, he does know what it is, but he hasn't really used it extensively because he doesn't really know what to click. "I don't need to use it."  
  
That was apparently the wrong answer, because Tony does this dramatic horrified gasp. "You—"  
  
"Mr Stark," Steve sighs, holding a hand up. "I'm sure that's not why you called me here." He doesn't know how all this ends up in Tony dumping him with gadgets that he doesn't actually need, and his head is spinning from how fast the other is talking. "So what's this about?"  
  
There is a minute of silence wherein Bruce just sips his juice, until Tony elbows him. "You tell him."  
  
Bruce just rolls his eyes. "Tony, it's your house. You tell him."  
  
"Yeah, but it was your idea!"  
  
"No, it wasn't."  
  
"Okay, it wasn't, but still!"  
  
Steve is just getting more confused, and a thought strikes him. "Dr Banner, did you…hulk out? Are you alright? Mr Stark said that—"  
  
"It was a joke, sheesh!" Tony throws his hands up in the air.  
  
"I can't really tell when you're joking or when you are not," Steve replies, and Tony frowns at that.  
  
"Yeah, because everything's a joke to me," he retorts before he can help it. "The big guy can handle it, okay? He's got it under control way better than anyone would in his position, so take a chill pill, Cap, god knows you need it even after seventy years in the ice."  
  
"I'm not saying—" Steve starts heatedly, then sighs. "I'm not saying that I don't trust him. Dr Banner, I—"  
  
"Yes, I know," Bruce interrupts. "You apologized to me already—"  
  
"He did?" Tony asks before he knows it.  
  
"Yes he did," Bruce gives Tony a pointed look. "It wasn't necessary, but I accept it all the same." He stands up and heads to the left where there is an open kitchen. He sets the cup he was holding down into the sink, and washes it clean. "Look, you two. I'm just going to bed, so see you guys in the morning. Also, you have to tell him, Tony."  
  
There is a tone of cool exasperation in his voice, and he just waves them both goodnight and disappears into the lift.  
  
"Well," Tony breaks the silence. "You're moving in."  
  
Steve requires at least a minute to process that. "What?"  
  
"Did you not hear what I said? I said you're moving in. With me. Us. In this house. Tower. I've got a room made up for you already."  
  
Steve really doesn't know how to deal with him. At all. "Mr Stark…in case you haven't noticed but…"  
  
"What, you're divorcing me already?"  
  
"No, I—I…no," Steve just sighs for what has to be the umpteenth time. He just feels so tired.  
  
"So you're not divorcing me."  
  
"Mr Stark—"  
  
"Stop with the Mr Stark thing, please," Tony grinds out, exasperated, but Steve's own exasperation is probably something else. "Did I say please? Because I never say please. Oh god having that word out of your mouth is driving me crazy. Do you want me to pay you so that you can sit at my director's board meeting? Because I so can do that and you can pretend to suck up to me and call me Mr Stark Mr Stark and—"  
  
"Tony—"  
  
"That's better, but I'd rather be called your Majesty, just to let you know."  
  
"How does anyone talk with you?" Steve demands, and he's even using hand gestures in frustration.  
  
"They don't," Tony replies, almost seriously. "Because I talk _at_ them."  
  
Steve drags his palms down his face and Tony shuts up for once. There's a bit of silent heavy breathing and Tony is unsure whether he has just broken the Captain, and as funny as the thought is, he's sure a lot of people would kill him afterwards.  
  
Thankfully Steve seems to be coping well enough. "Tony, we… are we even friends?"  
  
"Does it matter?" Tony knows they're edging into places that he doesn't want to go, and that's the solid main reason why he wanted Bruce to tell Steve about the new arrangement. "We're the Avengers, and we need a kickass headquarters, and my house is a kickass place. Since I'm funding all our shit here, S.H.I.E.L.D doesn't really give a damn."  
  
"Yes it does matter," Steve states. "Tony, I feel like you don't like me. Why do you even want me here?"  
  
"Where did you hear that?"  
  
"We were fighting just a minute ago—"  
  
"Your fault, not mine—"  
  
"I was just concerned—"  
  
"Your fault you can't take a joke—"  
  
"Look," Steve cuts him off. "We're doing it again. It's obvious that I make you uncomfortable, and I get that—"  
  
"Woah woah woah, you make me uncomfortable?" Tony raises an eyebrow. "Baby, please, I make people squirm because of the lack of filter I have on my mouth and Rhodey thinks I have no shame whatsoever—"  
  
"In that case then why is it every time I want to talk to you, you change the subject?"  
  
Tony opens his mouth to give a smartass retort, but it dies on his tongue at the look Steve is directing him with. The super soldier has his jaw clicked in place, and he looks deadly serious, with penetrating eyes. Then again, Tony is Tony.  
  
"You are talking to me."  
  
"You're doing it again, Tony." There's something in Steve's voice that ticks that him.  
  
"You don't know me, Rogers," Tony mutters. "Don't act like you do."  
  
To his credit, Steve doesn't take offense like Tony predicts he would. "I don't," he nods in agreement, and Tony is just stunned to silence. "I appreciate your offer but…I'll just be going," the blonde says after a while.  
  
It seems like that is his last word, because he turns and starts towards the lifts, except Tony halts him in his steps.  
  
"You can't," he suddenly blurts, and at the half raised eyebrow he elaborates. "I mean, you literally can't, because all your stuff is here." He already sees the confusion settling into a frown. "I got people to move all your things from S.H.I.E.L.D into your new room while you were out—"  
  
"But—but I didn't even know about this!"  
  
"Yeah, well, Fury's known about this plan for a while now, and I just said you agreed, and they were pretty slack about getting your things."  
  
Steve tries really hard not to punch the wall. "…I can't deal with this," he mumbles, and he just wants to sit down.  
  
"You know," Tony watches him curiously. "You remind me a lot of Pepper. There was this time, she said 'my body literally cannot handle this stress' and you look a lot like her having a breakdown—"  
  
"Thanks, Tony." For once, Captain America uses sarcasm at maximum and he doesn't care.  
  
"No problem, Cap," is the cheerful reply. "You're on level seventy one, one floor above mine. JARVIS will answer any questions that you have, and if he can't, then I probably can't either. Call Pepper, if that's the case. I can't force you to stay, but at least stay the night. You can decide if you want to move out tomorrow."  
  
There isn't anything else he can do but to nod. "My motorcycle—"  
  
"—it's already kept in my garage. By the way, I need to show you the private access from the basement. No one actually uses that main entrance, except you—"  
  
"I appreciate it," Steve interrupts before the ramble drags on. He's too tired to deal with anything more that comes out of Tony's mouth.  
  
"I'm sure you do," Tony grins. "Go on then, level seventy one. Any décor you hate is not my fault. Pepper did all of it."  
  
The super soldier breathes in deeply for the last time. "I…I'll see you in the morning."  
  
"Uh-huh," Tony waves at him carelessly and pads further towards the kitchen. "Cap," Tony says just as his foot steps into the elevator. "I do want you here." Steve can only hear his voice from his position. "Just so you know."  
  
Steve Rogers and Tony Stark is nothing like Captain America and Iron Man.  
  
He still doesn't know what to think.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It has been pointed out to me that Coke and revolving doors being invented before the forties. I apologise for my non-existent knowledge of anything 1940s before and after because I'm a shallow douche about the world in general.


	3. Chapter 3

When Steve cracks an eye open, he wonders why his bed feels so comfy. It feels ridiculously soft and warm against his skin, and when he stretches his arms out, he notes that the bed is a lot bigger than he remembers. He almost lets his eyelids close lazily, having a string of thought that it would be okay to skip his usual morning run in favour of soaking the presence of this really nice comfort.  
  
Then he shoots out of the bed so fast that he trips over his own feet, landing in a painful sprawl at the foot of the bedframe.  
  
"Ow…" he whimpers, rubbing his kneecaps.  
  
"Good morning, Captain Rogers."  
  
He jumps in alarm at the sudden intrusion of voice, but as he surveys his surroundings quickly, the happenings of last night crashes back into his brain.  
  
"Good morning, sir," he replies, slowly inching himself back to seat on the bed, giving the sore spot on his knee a final rub.  
  
Light shines in from the left side of his bed, and Steve turns to view the tinted full windows which he assumed were walls last night becoming transparent one by one. "The temperature today is an average of twenty four degrees, with clear skies in the morning and a possible hint of showers in the late afternoon," JARVIS continues to intone. "It is currently six thirteen—"  
  
Steve would've paid attention, except it's the first time he's seeing a morning overhead view of New York. The sun is up, and it's never more beautiful to see the city in early day light. Before he knows it, he's standing in awe at the window, palm pressed onto the glass. He rubs his eyes and stares out for a few more minutes. Finally he blinks and looks around for the first time proper.  
  
When Tony said he had prepared a room for him, he never imagined it would be an entire floor. It was ridiculous. There was a personal lounge, a small kitchen, a really huge walk in closet that was connected to the bathroom that had a bathtub and a rainfall shower and marble taps and everything. His bed area was tucked at the far back, with the plush carpet under his feet and huge bed with two pillows and a comforter.  
  
There was a work area somewhere on the left side of the floor, and when Steve goes closer to examine the stationary neatly set in their holders, he notices a fairly large but sleek gadget on the table, as well as a small glass piece framed with metal at the side, plus a box labeled 'everything for the phone'.  
  
So Tony wasn't kidding about dumping him with gadgets yesterday.  
  
"Captain, Mr Stark has taken the liberty of switching your mobile line to the Stark system. I regret to inform you that your previous mobile is unable to serve your purposes any further."  
  
"…Tony, he..he did _what_?" Steve frowns, carelessly running his hand through his hair. It was too early in the morning for this. He walks to the bedroom to get his phone and goes back to the desk, sitting himself in the rolling chair.  
  
"But I—I just got this phone and…" he sighs. "What about the…SIM card? Isn't it linked to my phone number or…" he just trails helplessly, because the salesman had spent nearly an hour trying to explain to him about the switching lines and everything and he understands the gist of it, but not well enough.  
  
In the end, Agent Coulson had just taken the SIM card out of the S.H.I.E.L.D issued phone and put it inside his iPhone for him.  
  
"Your mobile number has been retained," JARVIS informs him. "The Starkphone prototype 5.2 is fingerprint activated with voice recognition. I would suggest activating the phone, Captain. All your contacts have been transferred."  
  
He doesn't even begin to understand how all this works, so he picks up the glass screen that looks like it might crack under his grip any moment with unease.  
  
"Mr Stark has ensured that the phone would not break under your strength."  
  
"Enhanced glass?"  
  
"Something of the sort, Captain."  
  
Steve holds it with better confidence, but he really doesn't want to break the thing in half. The clear transparent glass looks back at him when he stares at it, and suddenly there's a light pulsating in the middle. An oval glows with an arrow beneath it and the words 'right thumb'. He presses his right thumb on it, and immediately the oval changes colour. It's eerie and strange yet amazing at how streaks of colour explode on the glass surface, and new words form on the screen.  
  
 _Welcome, Captain Rogers._  
  
"JARVIS?" he ventures carefully after touching random things on it.  
  
"Yes, Captain?"  
  
"Do you have a manual for this?"  
  
His phone suddenly beeps and there's a light projecting from the top of the phone. There's a whole block of words and Steve realizes it's the manual he's asked for. He touches the scrollbar at the side like he's seen Tony do with the other hologram, and drags it down. The words move along with his motions.  
  
"Wow," he breathes, utterly enraptured.  
  
Suddenly the novelty of the iPhone wears off and even if he doesn't know much about technology, the Starkphone is clearly much more advanced. He just reads the manual silently for a while, ensuring that he understands what a tap does and what a double tap does. He's sure he won't even use five percent of the phone's full capability, but he keeps them in mind anyway, just in case he presses the wrong thing.  
  
Steve glances back at the phone he just bought a week ago, and wonders what he can do with it.  
  
"If I may suggest, Captain, you can retain your iPhone version 4.0 S to play music."  
  
"I can do that?" Steve vaguely recalls the function that has been mentioned to him before, but he didn't explore the option.  
  
"You will require the software iTunes installed on the Stark notebook version 11.2."  
  
He wants to ask more, but all this technology is just floating over his head and he decides to deal with it another day. His body is aching for a run, and he heads over to the walk-in closet, feeling slightly creeped out at how all his clothes have been neatly hung in order on the clothes rack. The drawers open to reveal other items of clothing like shorts and boxers also folded. He picks a tank and running shorts, goes towards the bathroom to freshen up.  
  
Everything is just so posh and expensive and Steve is afraid to touch anything. His toothbrush and soap and all other necessities have been lined up on the sink counter. After using them, he wipes any water splash with the towel nearby, because it seemed like a sin to leave anything in a mess.  
  
He still doesn't know where the secret basement passageway is, so he exits from the main doors. People glance at him curiously when he exits, but he doesn't pay them much heed and starts to jog. He knows the area well enough but usually he travels around by his bike, so he challenges himself and goes a few rounds. By the time he's sweaty, it's beginning to seep into the afternoon and he heads back towards the tower and back to the level wherein he remembers there's a kitchen.  
  
"Glad to see that you're staying, Cap," Bruce smiles at him when he enters.  
  
Bruce is eating some kind of Chinese takeout at the table, with newspapers in hand. "I ordered noodles for you and rice for Tony, but," he shrugs, "I'm not sure if he's eating this time, so you can have both if you want."  
  
Steve wants to say that he hasn't actually agreed to staying, but Bruce just turns back to his newspaper.  
  
"Um, thanks," he says instead. "How much was it?"  
  
Bruce waves at him. "Charged it to Tony's card."  
  
"Oh, okay. I'll pay him later."  
  
Bruce glances at him for moment, but does not comment. Steve sits next down to him gingerly, and it's obvious that he doesn't feel all that comfortable being in the Stark tower. Nevertheless, his hunger wins out and he eats his portion, devouring it quickly as someone with four times metabolism would do. He's still kind of hungry after that, but he figures he can find something else to fill him up later as he downs another glass of water. It's strange how he's taking liberties in this house when he hasn't even agreed to stay—and he feels guilty.  
  
"Dr Banner," he starts. "Can I ask you a question?"  
  
Bruce puts down his newspaper. "Sure."  
  
"Why…why do you stay here?" Steve isn't sure if that's what he really wants to ask, but it's the most he can form into a coherent question.  
  
Bruce just contemplates the question. "I guess it's because I…I feel safe here," he finally answers after some thought. "I don't know if I've told you, but I've broken Harlem once," he smiles wryly. "Not a pretty sight."  
  
"I've seen the footage," Steve agrees. "But…I thought you need a...a stress free environment," he continues, looking confused. "And Tony—I mean, it's not that I—I mean, he zaps you with that pointy thing."  
  
"I know where you're coming from. Tony is…a kind of his own," Bruce chuckles. "But Cap, all I need is a place where I don't have to run from people," he looks at Steve. "I can do my experiments here in peace, and have some company from time to time. It's better than anything I've had since I had the other guy in me. It's…nice."  
  
Steve nods slowly. "I…I understand. Thanks, for…telling me."  
  
"No problem, Cap," Bruce answers. "Maybe this can be your home too."  
  
Home? Steve hasn't really considered it yet, but it does sound nice. Only, he's tried to find somewhere to call home, but nowhere reminds him of it. Home exists seventy years back into the past.  
  
"Maybe," he murmurs.  
  
"Tony does want you here, you know."  
  
"He told me yesterday," Steve admits. "But it's kind of hard to…believe. He…he doesn't seem to like me very much."  
  
"Why do you think that?"  
  
"Well, because…because…" Steve presses his lips together in thought. "I said some things I really shouldn't have said, and he keeps avoiding the topic whenever I try to bring it up so I don't think he has forgiven me for that and—"  
  
"Cap," Bruce gently cuts him off. "Do you like Tony?" At the perplex look he elaborates. "As a friend. Or team-mate, if you prefer."  
  
Steve just nods, because he does. He thinks Tony is pretty admirable in his own right, although he doesn't understand a fraction of what the man does.  
  
"And he has also said things which are out of line to you. I don't think Tony has apologized to you, and yet you like him. So why should it be any different for Tony?"  
  
Steve gets that Bruce is trying to make a point. "But there isn't anything about what he said that isn't true."  
  
 _A hero, like you? You're a laboratory experiment, Rogers. Everything special about you came out of a bottle._  
  
Bruce just watches him carefully. "And Tony might feel the same way."  
  
The rest of lunch is spent in thoughtful silence.

 

* * *

  
  
It's around eight, and Steve is still in the Stark tower. He doesn't know why he's still in it, maybe one reason is because his things are all packed in his new room and he doesn't want to unpack it all, or maybe he's starting to think staying here isn't such a bad idea after all. The tower is empty—save for Bruce and Tony (he assumes, because he hasn't seen Tony at all) and he's met Pepper briefly when he bumped into her in the elevator, but other than that he doesn't see anyone else.  
  
The thought is slightly creepy, but strangely enough it doesn't feel lonely. He feels more freedom that he's had in a long while. At S.H.I.E.L.D, he does have his own room, but he knows there are security cameras and he sees S.H.I.E.L.D personnel everywhere. He feels obligated to be formal and polite with everyone around, and it gets tiring.  
  
He spends the afternoon exploring the tower, only because he realizes that there are many levels to the tower—all ninety three of them. The very top few floors are under reconstruction, the floors after that are the makeshift labs that Tony and Bruce work in. Then come in the common lounge area where he had his lunch. The next few levels after that are apparently rooms for all the Avengers.  
  
Steve talks with JARVIS and learns that Tony is deadly serious of his incredible idea of housing all of them in the Stark tower, with individual floors designed as what he thinks they would like. JARVIS projects the plan out and Steve marvels at them, and he honestly feels touched.  
  
He's never been so wrong about anyone, and the more he learns about Tony, the deeper his regret goes.  
  
Other floors in the tower include a heated Olympic sized swimming pool, and there's even a level that is basically an in house theatre. Steve feels slightly bad for snooping around, but he's really curious as to what this 'big ugly building' holds. However when he finds the gym, he stops there.  
  
He doesn't know how long he's been going at the punching bag, but the weight against his fists doesn't let him stop. He hits his target over and over again, muscles stretched taunt with force.  
  
He sees his fellow soldiers running and yelling for their lives. He sees bombs exploding, blood splattering. But most of all he sees Bucky grinning at him, and the promise that he follows not Captain America, but Steve Rogers. He hears Peggy's voice once again, and the date that he never showed up for.  
  
He controls himself before he punches the bag that he knows will send it flying—it's not his punching bag after all.  
  
He hates himself in times like these. He works out because he needs to stop thinking about seventy years ago. It's gone. It's all gone. There's no point in harping on something that would never come back. Yet when he works out all he sees are visions that send him reeling back to the war, to the broken promises and lost hope.  
  
He volunteered for the super soldier serum project because he wanted to help. But when people needed him most, he crashed into the ice. Now, who would need a man out of time? His mentality is back dated, he doesn't understand the new generation's lingo, he isn't made to deal with anything that's happening in the twenty-first century.  
  
So he finds himself working out—and that's really all he's useful for.  
  
"Cap."  
  
Steve halts in surprise, looking up. "Agent Barton," he greets the two figures that come closer towards him. "Agent Romanov."  
  
"I've told you already—it's Clint," Clint narrows his eyes at him in mock offense. "Great place huh? I see that you're settling in already."  
  
He still hasn't really decided to stay in the Stark tower.  
  
"You're moving in?"  
  
"Yeah," Clint shrugs. "We just got our stuff in. I mean, who wouldn't? Free rent, free food, free entertainment," Clint counts off his fingers. "Have you seen my room?" he demands. "It's an entire fucking _level_. I've never even had an en-suite bathroom, oh my god."  
  
Natasha rolls her eyes, but doesn't disagree. "I like it," she shrugs. "Way better than bunking out at some random apartment or at S.H.I.E.L.D."  
  
"Very true," Clint nods. "At least we've got a permanent place now."  
  
Steve doesn't even begin to understand the demands that S.H.I.E.L.D agents have because of their missions. More often than not they take on fake personas for a period of time, sometimes a few hours, sometimes for months. They get assigned to random accommodations because of that. There's no way they can stay in a certain location for long periods of time because of the security to their identities, and the only place that they report back to frequently is S.H.I.E.L.D. But as Steve has mentioned, S.H.I.E.L.D isn't a home.  
  
The Stark tower, on the other hand, has all the security measures that are even more advanced than S.H.I.E.L.D is—it has to be, because Tony's Iron Man suit is literally ten years of future technology for the rest of the world, and he needs to keep it safe.  
  
"So…are you staying, Cap?" Clint tilts his head questioningly. "It won't be the same if we weren't housemates."  
  
"Somebody needs to put Stark in place," Natasha adds with a wry quirk of her lips.  
  
Steve looks at them for a moment. "Did Dr Banner ask you two to convince me?"  
  
"Nah, I haven't seen Bruce—probably doing some experiment," Clint shakes his head. "It was Tony. He won't shut up about you rejecting his offer, but I told him to stuff it. He's like a two year old kid with ADHD I swear to god—"  
  
"You've seen Tony?" Steve asks, because he hasn't seen a whit of Tony ever since yesterday.  
  
"He came to get us and rattled a list of useless information," Natasha snorts. "And then he disappeared back into his lab or something."  
  
"Well, we were hungry, so we asked the AI—" Clint points to the ceiling. "And he said you were here, so…dinner?"  
  
Vaguely Steve wonders if Tony has eaten at all, because the rice packet was untouched when he left to explore the house, and it sounds like only the assassins were interested in getting food.  
  
"Sure. What do you have in mind?"


	4. Chapter 4

Steve actually never agreed to stay in the Stark tower officially. It's just that he never moved out.  
  
It's easy to fall into routine. It's been about three weeks since he's switched accommodation, and it's far too easy to enjoy all the privileges of the Stark tower. Somebody cleans his room everyday—he doesn't know who, but after every morning run that he comes back from, his bed is made and everything is spick clean. He gets used to the idea of JARVIS playing a track from the forties that he knows when he showers. He reports to S.H.I.E.L.D if director Fury calls, if not, he explores the city. He learns the secret passageway not from Tony but from Bruce when they go out and have supper one day.  
  
In fact, he doesn't see Tony much at all.  
  
The man appears time to time at the kitchen, usually in the morning after Steve has done his morning run. Tony always looks dazed and groggy with grease or sweat sticking to his skin. Steve doesn't even know if Tony even registers his surroundings—but Tony always heads for the coffee machine, presses some buttons and talks to it, and then he saunters away with a hot cup in hand.  
  
There was once Steve tries to initiate some sort of conversation.  
  
("Tony," he calls, catching the other by the elbow before he walks past. "Do you…um, do you want something to eat? Breakfast?"  
  
Tony startles and looks at him like he's just realised Steve is in the kitchen.  
  
"I'm cooking eggs," Steve adds on, because Tony is still just staring.  
  
"Eggs, high in cholesterol, but I doubt you need to care," Tony begins, looking at him up and down. "Boy, that super soldier serum is such genius and I'm ashamed that I wasn't the one to create it," he shakes his head. "Did you have abs before they injected you or after? Because that's totally unfair. Does that mean all your muscles come with the jab, or did you have to work at them—"  
  
Steve lost track of whatever Tony is saying somewhere in the middle. "Do you want eggs or not?"  
  
"Nah, not hungry," Tony waves at him, padding towards the elevator. "If you need more eggs, just tell JARVIS!"  
  
And he's gone.)  
  
Ever since that, he's been noticing that that Tony doesn't eat at all when left on his own. It certainly can't be healthy. Sometimes Pepper comes in and Tony appears in his expensive suits and he knows they go out to deal with Stark Industries related events. He's sure Pepper forces Tony to eat somehow—because she has ranted about the lack of self-awareness that Tony exudes. But other than that, only Bruce joins him pretty regularly at the dining table for lunch or dinner, and Clint and Natasha usually appear late at night, but with an extra spicy chicken dish or tubs of ice-cream they've picked up along the way home.  
  
So there's just one night wherein all of them are digging into paella—the rest of them have made it some sort of thing to try all kinds of cuisine to make up for anything Steve has missed, and Steve notices that he hasn't seen a glimpse of Tony in at least two days.  
  
"Where's Tony?"  
  
"Lab," Bruce answers easily.  
  
"Does he not eat?" is the next question.  
  
"Maybe," Bruce shrugs. "I tried to feed him the first week I was here, but I've given up."  
  
"They say all geniuses are a bit…" Clint coughs, and points at his temple with a smirk. "He probably lives off the battery in his chest anyway. Food? Too mainstream."  
  
"His habits haven't changed since the time I worked for him, that's for sure," Natasha puts in. "I don't think they will any time soon."  
  
"But he has to eat _something_ ," Steve frowns. "Maybe we should bring some to him."  
  
The rest of them don't seem very concerned, but they do leave a portion for Tony which Steve piles on a plate. It seems like it's a unsaid decision that Steve would bring it to Tony—he doesn't mind—so he finds himself riding the elevator to the lab he first time saw Tony and Bruce in. To his bewilderment, the entire floor is dark—the lights are switched off, and there is definitely no one inside the soundproofed walls.  
  
"JARVIS?"  
  
"How may I assist, Captain?"  
  
"Where's Tony?"  
  
"Mr Stark is currently at the ninetieth level."  
  
"Can you take me to him?"  
  
"Unfortunately, Mr Stark prefers to be undisturbed. He requested that no one may enter."  
  
Steve looks at the plate of food in his hand. "Oh. Um, has he eaten then?"  
  
"I believe Mr Stark consumed what he terms as a 'hot packet' approximately eight hours ago."  
  
Steve doesn't really get what a hot packet is, but eight hours ago? That was insane. "Could you let me in?" he persists. "He has to eat more than that. He can't be starving himself all this time…it's not healthy…"  
  
"Unless code six-nine-alpha-five-four is activated, I am unable to grant you access. I am sorry, Captain."  
  
"What's code six-nine-alpha-five-four?"  
  
"It overrides any decisions that Mr Stark makes that potentially endangers his life."  
  
Steve thinks for a moment. "Would you say starving to death is a good reason?"  
  
JARVIS doesn't respond immediately, but the elevator moves upwards.  
  
"Thank you, JARVIS."  
  
"My pleasure, Captain."  
  
The ninetieth floor is the one wherein Bruce flung Loki rather ungracefully unto the floor. It's like another lounge, but there is a bar at the side and a platform extending out. This particular level had undergone quite a bit of damage, from the shattered glasses and the cracked floor. However Steve notes that it's been cleaned up quite well, only the replacement glass has been taped with the words 'temporary', and the platform is open, allowing the night breeze to blow in.  
  
Tony isn't anywhere inside—so he must be outside, on the platform itself. Sure enough, the man is sitting quite preciously at the edge, with wiring strewn all about from the floor of the platform. His hands are somewhere deep inside all the metal mess, and he doesn't notice Steve walking up to him.  
  
It's only when Tony notices a shadow blocking his light source that he jumps in shock, grabbing the edge of the platform for dear life. "Who the fuck—Jesus!" he shouts, breathing heavily. "Why did you do that?" he half whines, patting the ground. "Why are you here?" he frowns. "JARVIS! I said _undisturbed_! Which part of that do you not understand?" he yells to the air.  
  
"Captain Rogers initiated override code—"  
  
"Liar!" Tony huffs. "Only Pepper and Rhodey know that code!"  
  
"Actually," Steve puts in. "I did say six-nine-alpha-five-four."  
  
Tony just stares at him unbelievingly.  
  
"The Captain presented a hard bargain, sir," JARVIS states.  
  
"You watch out," Tony grumbles. "I'll make you into a toaster. One day, JARVIS. One day. "  
  
Steve tries not to smile at the interaction. He squats down so that he is eye level with Tony.  
  
"Yeah, well, Cap," Tony shrugs, drumming his fingers on the floor. "What do you want me for?"  
  
"I just wanted to bring you dinner."  
  
Steve holds out the plate of paella and utensils in hand. Tony looks at it in surprise, then it narrows into suspicion.  
  
"That's it?" he asks. "You're not here to uh… _talk_ to me, or whatever—"  
  
"No," Steve shakes his head. "Not this time."  
  
Tony then relaxes into a grin. "Put it there, then," he gestures next to him, and it's obvious that his attention is back to the wires. "Thanks, Cap."  
  
Steve doesn't relent. "Eat it. You're just going to go back to whatever you're doing and forget about it and it's going to get cold."  
  
"Since when did you become an expert on my working habits?" Tony raises an eyebrow, but at the set look Steve shoots at him, he sighs. "Fine, fine, give it here. I'll eat it."  
  
Tony grabs the spoon and digs into the plate. It's not that he hates food or anything, but he just doesn't like leaving things unfinished. He prefers to get everything done and he hates disruptions, because his last thought is usually the most significant, and it sucks when he can't remember where he last left off. He's learnt to forget about the hunger chewing at his stomach when he works, but when he does remember it—like now—he basically _consumes_ whatever he can find.  
  
The spiced rice is pretty good, and he coughs when he accidentally swallows a mouthful bigger than his throat. Steve is just watching him eat, and Tony looks back at him unblinking as he eats—he does not know the meaning of self-conscious at all, and sure enough Steve looks away and coughs uncomfortably.  
  
"Want something to drink?" Tony asks between mouthfuls. "Cider? Beer? Wine? Whiskey?" he doesn't bother to let Steve answer though. "JARVIS, pick a bottle from the wine cooler and get Dummy to send it over here!"  
  
Seconds later, a whirling click catches their attention and a robot on wheels beeps, balancing a tray with a bottle of red wine and two glasses. It moves slightly jerkily, and it stops about two meters away, and peers curiously over the edge.  
  
"Dummy, no, bad boy, move away from the edge!" Tony gestures at it. "If you drop that bottle down ninety stories I swear will donate you to that city college—"  
  
The robot beeps, and obediently backtracks from the edge to Tony's side. He gives an absentminded pat to the robot who clicks at him.  
  
"Year 1980," Tony reads flippantly from the label. "It's younger than you, old man," he teases, and pours both of them a glass.  
  
"I can't get drunk," Steve tells him, shaking his head at the offer.  
  
"Yes, I know that," Tony replies, and just pushes the glass into his hands. "Metabolism, right? Burns four times faster than the average human. Though, maybe you just haven't drunk enough to outweigh that rate," he drinks a mouthful of the wine. "I'd really like to test out that theory," he hums thoughtfully. "You haven't been to a club yet have you?" a smirk slips unto his face. "Ohhhh, we are so going. Anyway, drink. It's my wine so it's good."  
  
It doesn't seem like Tony would let him refuse, so he just takes it and drinks a sip. It's sweet.  
  
The robot that's next to them clicks noisily, and it prods at Steve's arm.  
  
"Dummy, Steve, Steve, Dummy," Tony pats the robot almost affectionately. "Now shoo. Go away."  
  
It's the first time he'd heard Tony call him by his first name, and it stuns him a little.  
  
"The first AI I built when I was seventeen," Tony continues, and he's still making gestures at the robot who won't budge, but merely rolls closer to Steve. "It's useless, I bet the city college won't even want him."  
  
"You hurt his feelings," Steve observes as it beeps a low tune.  
  
It clicks again when Steve touches it in wonder—it's like stepping unto a sci-fi movie set. The robot seems to reciprocate his touch, because it beeps again.  
  
"Oh for the love of—" Tony rolls his eyes. "They love you more than me, and I'm their daddy. Do you exhibit some kind of pheromones that attract my AIs to you?"  
  
Steve smiles and shrugs. Tony makes more threats towards the robot until it rolls away.  
  
"What are you building?" Steve asks curiously, glancing at the mess of wires on the floor. "It looks like a lot of work."  
  
"The mechanism that keeps my suit," Tony replies after his last mouthful of rice. "It's too bad I can't hire anyone to do this—they've got no clue what the hell I'm wiring, and they'll probably cut off the wrong things and I'll have to do it all over again—no, this level of genius is only left to me. I'll show you. JARVIS, run the sequence."  
  
There is a silent whirr that rumbles from beneath them, and then the platform parts to allow golden arches to from.  
  
"Where we're sitting is where I Iand on the platform in my suit," Tony explains as the sequence runs. "See those rings? Left takes the bottom arm piece, right takes the helmet, the foot portion sticks to that, see, and all of it gets assembled back to its case," Tony points in a vague upward direction. "Reindeer games screwed the damn thing the last time he was here. It's a bitch to coordinate the timing."  
  
"You made this? All of it?" Steve stares the metal structures folding and unfolding and everything looks so _elegant_. "It's amazing."  
  
"You think?" Tony asks, and he genuinely sounds surprised.  
  
"Yeah, I do," Steve answers honestly. "It's…it's one of the most amazing things I've seen."  
  
Tony just stares at him, and Steve averts his eyes and busies himself with his glass of wine.  
  
"Well, your physique is one of the most amazing things _I've_ seen," Tony counters. "I've seen how you look before you got serumized—"  
  
"H-how?"  
  
"Dad's notes, not important," Tony plunders on, and he ignores the look of something on Steve's face. "Anyway, I've always had this _burning_ question about it," he looks at Steve seriously. "When the serum enhanced everything…did it really mean everything? I mean, how big were you before, and how big are you now?"  
  
Steve blinks in confusion. "What do you—"  
  
Tony is just staring at him with a straight face, and slowly he gives a pointed look towards Steve's abdomen. Actually, lower than that. His crotch.  
  
The moment of understanding is the moment a bright red flush creeps right down Steve's neck. He splutters in disbelief and Tony bursts into laughter, and he laughs and laughs and laughs. Tony is still laughing when he pats Steve on the shoulder, taking their empty glasses and his finished plate in. Steve only wallows in embarrassment and refuses to answer.  
  
He doesn't know when he had decided, but he's staying.

 

* * *

  
  
Despite what most people think, Tony isn't actually in his lab all the time. Yes, he's _mostly_ in the lab when he has a brilliant idea that he just needs to work out, but it doesn't mean that he doesn't go to other places in his house. Quite a few of the floors of the tower are just dedicated to storage, because he owns too much things—like scientific papers and notes, and also other expensive useless things he buys on whim. He also has other things people dump him with, for example, the time Fury sent boxes of Howard's things.  
  
He hasn't finished going through all of those boxes.  
  
He's seen a bit of footage and some of the notes before he had the epiphany of the molecular structure of the vibranium alloy. He hasn't really had a reason to go back and sort through all of it, because truthfully it brings back memories that he doesn't want to revisit.  
  
But he's curious as well, because those boxes are basically Howard's life. They represent the things that Howard considered more important than his own son.  
  
They are notes and scribbles and drawings. Weaponary, shields, atomic bombs, defense materials. There are also other random things like the concept of a flying car, plans of building a spaceship and and the basis of hologram light projection.  
  
Most of all there are things related to Captain America.  
  
Tony sits in the middle of a mess of files that he's hauled out from a particular box. The first file he flips through he recognizes it as Steve's military report. He sees the many rejected stamps Steve has tried to enlist himself in the army and failed, and the one time that he didn't. He sees written reports about how unfit and unmade Steve was for the army training program, but the footnote states the value of his bravery in a grenade test.  
  
Other files speak of the HYDRA raids that post serum Steve have led and participated in.  
  
Success.  
  
Success.  
  
Success.  
  
Another file that Tony uncovers he finds a stash of yellow stained black and white photographs. One of them show Steve as a new recruit, front and side profiles. It's always a shocking contrast to see Steve as he was then and Steve as he is now. Gone is the kid who was skin and bones and dreadfully unfit—in his place is a muscle packed soldier. But the look in his eyes and the steel in his jaw never changes. There are other photos of Steve while he serves in the military—when he's planning an attack, or chatting with his comrades, and Steve has never looked more in his element.  
  
There are also colour handouts of Captain America in spandex and propaganda pictures.  
  
But most of all there's a file dedicated to the super soldier serum project. Tony flicks through the official paper wherein Steve gets chosen for the super soldier serum project, and the words that are printed neatly in calligraphy in someone's handwriting in the remarks section:  
  
 _Because he's not a perfect solider, but a good man._  
  
Tony is willing to bet he can re-create the serum if he really wanted to—even if he couldn't do it from scratch, just a sample of Steve's blood and he can form a list of substances that are in the serum. But even if he does create one, it will never work.  
  
Simply because there is no one else like Steve Rogers.  
  
Tony knows the only reason why the super soldier serum is such a success is because Steve Rogers was Captain America before the pumped the muscles into his body. He was Captain America _personified_ on the inside—the serum merely brought his attributes outwards. He was lying when he had snapped at Steve in the helicarrier. Everything special about him did not come from a bottle. Steve already had it in him.  
  
At the bottom of the box that he empties he finds a worn but carefully kept notebook and a tape. There are no markings on the tape so Tony sets it to aside first and focuses on the notebook. The paper is tinged with age but the spine of the book is still strong as he unbinds it and flips it open.  
  
It' a sketch book, Tony realizes.  
  
There are carefully rendered pictures of the spandex suit that Tony has seen Steve wear in those propaganda films. There are also drawings of random still life like a makeup table or a stage. Other pictures include a dancing monkey or animals dressed in circus garb. And then there are sketches of people—USO girls in their costumes, a few military commanders, and Peggy Carter.  
  
It's obvious how much time the artist has spent smoothing the lines of the portraits of Peggy Carter, because the amount of detail and shading said everything. The pictures begin as quick sketches at first, usually side profile, then they get bolder and more life-like. Occasionally there are words written in cursive at the side, but they are always cancelled out in a hurry. Tony stares at the penciled lady and knows that this sketchbook belongs to Steve.  
  
Tony turns his attention to the tape he had put aside. At first he guesses that it might be one of those propaganda films, but those are in another box he has stumbled upon before. This one is curiously unlabelled.  
  
"JARVIS, scan it and convert it to flv format."  
  
"At once, sir."  
  
Light runs over the tape and an outline appears on top of it in hologram form. Tony picks up the outline and spins it, and it transforms into an audio frequency wave.  
  
"Only audio, huh," he muses, scrolling the wave and expanding it. "Rather low quality, but impressive for its time, I suppose. Play."  
  
For the first few seconds, there is only static.  
  
 _(Peggy.)_  
  
That's Steve's voice right there, and he sounds hesitant.  
  
 _I'm here._  
  
Peggy speaks clearly, but Tony can detect the muffled choke in her throat.  
  
 _(I'm going to need a rain check on that dance.)_  
  
 _All right. A week next Saturday, at The Stork Club._  
  
 _(You've got it.)_  
  
 _Eight o'clock on the dot. Don't you dare be late. Understood?_  
  
 _(You know, I still don't know how to dance.)_  
  
 _I'll show you how. Just…be there._  
  
The background fuzz grows louder.  
  
 _(We'll have the band play something slow. I'd hate to step on your...)_  
  
Abruptly, there is just static.  
  
 _Steve? Steve?_  
  
There is no mistaking the quiet sob that trails after.  
  
 _Steve?_  
  
The audio just cuts off.  
  
Tony doesn't move from his position. He remains sprawled on the floor, and fingers the notebook at his side silently.


	5. Chapter 5

When Tony snaps his eyes open, it's still dark.  
  
The only thing that gives off a faint illumination is the arc reactor in his chest. He's sort of grateful for the light, to be honest. The blue glow reminds him that he has survived—he's constructed a metal suit out of scrap, he's condensed the arc reactor technology, he's busted himself out of that cave—he's _alive_.  
  
It still takes a few minutes before his heavy breathing subsides, and he suddenly feels the sticky chill of his sweat on his skin. He hates it but he's learnt to deal with it. At least he isn't screaming anymore. He lies on his back for a moment more before he's aware of fingers stroking his rib lightly.  
  
"Did I wake you?" he murmurs, shifting his head to the side.  
  
Pepper has her face tucked into the side of his shoulder, and an arm draped across his chest. "You kept shifting," she mumbles back, eyes still closed.  
  
He kisses the side of her temple in apology. It's definitely not the first time that she's been shaken awake by his nightmares, but it's improving. He doesn't scream and wake the entire tower, and she doesn't freak out and fuss over him. The nightmares won't ever stop, they both know that. But they try to deal with it as much as they can.  
  
Time heals.  
  
Eventually.  
  
"Go back to sleep, Pep," Tony says, covering the hand she has over his rib with his.  
  
She gripes back in response, entwining her fingers with his. "You are not going down to the lab."  
  
Tony huffs at her words. "I wasn't going to," he denies.  
  
Pepper doesn't even bother to argue with him. "Just try and get some rest, Tony," she chides, and this time she has her eyes open, and she's staring firmly at him. "You get little enough as it is."  
  
She knows how little sleep Tony can function on. She knows his habits very well. When she's away deal with company demands that is supposed to be Tony's job but she does them anyway because she basically runs the company in his name—which can be frustrating—she knows he locks himself in the lab and tinkers with his experiments. Tony likes to keep his mind busy so that he doesn't think of the unimportant stuff. The kind of stuff that resounds in his head when the room is quiet and the walls are dark. He doesn't like to be alone. So when she's in New York she takes advantage of the fact that she can make him sleep properly in his own bed.  
  
" _Pepper,_ " Tony starts, and there's a bit of whine in his voice. "You know I can't go back to sleep every time this happens. Unless you want me to watch you sleep. Which is—I admit, not a bad idea, but then I'll be tempted to do other things to you and you'll punch me when you wake up like the other time—"  
  
"You had a hand on my breast," Pepper interjects. "I could've sued you for sexual harassment."  
  
"There was a spider!" he protests. "It was huge! I risked a possible mutation should it be radioactive for you. I would be climbing walls and shooting webs, except in man form."  
  
Pepper just rolls her eyes and turns over the other side.  
  
"Hey, hey, do you still not believe me?" Tony grumbles.  
  
He slides his arms around her back to her front and pulls her up close. "Pepper," he whines her name again, and starts to place soft kisses on the back of her neck. "Pep _ppppppp_."  
  
It's too distracting to ignore him when he gets like that. Pepper twists back to face him, and he directs his attention to the curve of her jaw instead. She hums at the sensation, and slowly his mouth travels to her lips and takes her deeply.  
  
"There really was a spider," he insists again when he pulls back. "Really. Please believe me."  
  
"Yes, I do believe you," she sighs, exasperated. "Only because you're an idiot."  
  
"I'm a genius," he retorts. "Haters are going to hate. I'll have you know that my IQ—"  
  
"Well, for a genius you're doing a brilliant impression of an idiot."  
  
"You wound me, Pep," Tony remarks. "I—"  
  
"Tony," she says, and he closes his mouth before he starts on a ramble. "Tony, what did you say to Steve?"  
  
"Steve?" Tony repeats, and frowns. "Since when were you on first name basis with Captain Ice-pants?" there's a hint of jealousy in there and he doesn't bother to hide it.  
  
"Since I told him to," Pepper replies with a raised eyebrow. "I know you haven't sorted it out with him."  
  
"But there's _nothing_ to sort out!"  
  
"Tony."  
  
Tony sighs, and scrubs at his eyes. "Can we not talk about this? Again?"  
  
"No," she tells him firmly. "You said you can't fall back to sleep, right? So we'll talk. Now. You spent at least two weeks after the invasion ranting about this very nice man whom you have _collectibles_ of—"  
  
"Pep—"  
  
"—and is nothing like you paint him out to be, and then you whined about him rejecting your offer to stay with us last week, and then you watch him through your video feed when he's in the gym—"  
  
"—what the—JARVIS, you and I will have words—"  
  
Pepper sighs. "Sometimes, I don't understand what you're doing, Tony."  
  
"I don't either," Tony replies, and after a while, he concedes. "You know he's the guy that my dad chose over me, right? And he…he's just…it," Tony shrugs. "I would choose him over me too. And that's not fair. Why does he want to apologise? Pep, do you know anyone else like him?" he demands. "He's fucking _perfect_ and I—"  
  
Pepper cups his cheek gently. "Tony," she murmurs softly. "Don't be too harsh on him. He isn't perfect. No one is."  
  
"I know," Tony sighs, almost defeated. "I _know_."  
  
Tony knows because he's seen Steve rip his punching bags apart at four in the morning. In his defense, he was running a test run of his security cameras in the tower just to check if he had deleted the correct sequence of code that was giving a glitch to one of the video feeds. He had chanced upon a figure in the gym, and he enlarged the particular video because it was unusual. Tony always assumed that everyone else was asleep at his functioning hours.  
  
It was even more surprising to find out that it's the super solider kept awake at ungodly hours in the morning. Steve was just going at it at a punching bag. There's no audio, but Tony can tell the entire room would be rattling with the metal chain that kept the punching bag held up. Steve is sweating heavily, shirt soaked damp yet he doesn't stop. His fist pound non-stop, and it's easy to tell the blonde is frustrated.  
  
The punches get more and more violent and suddenly the punching bag just _flies_ across the room, and sand pours all over the floor.  
  
For a moment Steve just stands there breathing heavily, and his expression is dark, nothing like Tony has ever seen before. It's not Steve's Captain-persona when he's in charge and serious and he means it. It's not even like the time when Steve eyes and judges him in the helicarrier. It's even more intense than that.  
  
Steve just sinks to the floor, and cradles his head in his hands. This is where Tony _knows._  
  
Tony knows Steve isn't coping as well with the present as he shows it to be. The super soldier is still uneasy in this time. Steve has left everything behind when he froze in ice involuntarily. Everything is new and newer, and there's nothing here that anchors him. He's lost someone he's deeply cared about. He's a man out of time, and he knows it. Tony has never felt so horrible for rubbing flaws into people's faces until now.  
  
Then, Steve suddenly blinks up and his expression is of sheer horrification.  
  
He hurries over to the punching bag he has broken and looks around helplessly, _guiltily_. He paces back and forth for a few moments before opening his mouth and says something. Tony guesses he's talking to JARVIS unless the Captain has an imaginary friend. Steve walks out of the video feed and comes back later with a broom and dustpan in hand. He sweeps up the sand and puts the spoilt equipment away.  
  
When Tony visits the gym the next day, he notices that the number of punching bags he's stocked the gym with is the same. There's one which looks newer than all the rest.  
  
"Why are you so concerned about him?" Tony asks, squinting at Pepper amidst the darkness. "Are you cheating on me with our golden American boy in spangled tights?"  
  
"I'm worried about you," she retorts, fondly. "Idiot."

 

* * *

  
  
Tony had no idea how much the other Avengers were taking advantage of his tower until he stumbled across the entire group sans Thor who was legitimately away in Asgard huddled on the carpeted floor of his in built theatre. Pepper had flown to Maibu in the morning, and he had signed some relevant documents all afternoon like a responsible adult, because Pepper had thrown in some incentives.  
  
He remembers Bruce asking him over the intercom if he'd like to have dinner with them—if he remembers for a change—and he had flippantly said yes before plugging his headphones in and working on the final touch for the new boosters he had designed for Mark VIII. By the time he's finished he's realised it's way past dinner time and there're at least eight alerts flashing on his screen signaling that Bruce had tried to contact him in the past three hours but failed.  
  
He's a little hurt that no one bothered to come down to the lab to physically drag him out or at least bring food down to him, but he pushes the thought away because it was only one time that Steve did that. Also with good reason, because since the day that he's seen a super solider blush bright red, Pepper had taken care of his meal times until she flew off today.  
  
Tony enters the kitchen and spots a plastic box with a sticky note for him on the table. It has his name on it as well as an indication to where the rest are, and that's how he finds himself standing at the doorway of his movie screening room with the box of food in hand.  
  
"No. Definitely not that," Clint says, and he tries to steal the remote from Natasha who keeps it firmly in her grip.  
  
"We're not watching another sappy chick flick," Natasha retorts, pressing a button on the remote, and the screen flickers more movie titles.  
  
" _The Notebook_ is classic," the archer insists, and they're still fighting over the remote.  
  
"I'm still voting for _Star Trek_ ," Bruce inputs from the side. He's in the huddle, but he's sitting pretty relaxed with his eyes skimming over the titles on screen.  
  
"We did a sci-fi run last week, remember?" Clint reminds him, and deepens his voice. "Luke, I am your father? We just watched the _Exorcism of Emily Rose_ and I think it's safe to say it's my turn to pick the movie."  
  
Indeed, they have done a marathon of the entire _Star Wars_ series, three at a time, only because Steve has never watched it. Steve isn't sure how this Movie Night became an educational session for him seeing that the rest of them argued their movie choices over what he hasn't seen—he doesn't really mind because he didn't have much opportunity to watch many films in the forties—it's expensive, and the times wherein he did go on occasion, he was always beaten up for shushing people with no consideration. Also, the quality and colour and experience of movies are so different now than it was then.  
  
However, Steve does know how it all started. It's Clint and Natasha's idea—mostly Clint though. There was once Steve decides to check out the theatre level because he realises he could probably watch something from Tony's collection instead of forking out at the local cinema. He doesn't find it surprising that it's dark when he opens the door, but then he sees the screen lit and a girl with long inky hair crawling out of a television.  
  
There's a terrified scream coming from somewhere in front and Steve instinctively rushes forward, and he looks around to find something to use as a shield or weapon but there isn't anything but couches.  
  
"—Cap?"  
  
That's Natasha's voice, and Steve whirls around to see the two assassins staring at him in wide eye wonder. Both of them are sitting on one of the front couches. It would've been normal if not for the fetal position that Clint is in. He's grasping one of Natasha arms tightly.  
  
"What are you doing?"  
  
"Uh..um," Steve falters, and the lights are dimmed back on. He looks again at the screen which has been paused at a frame with the girl's hands out of the television box. "I heard someone screaming," he explains, suddenly feeling foolish.  
  
"I did not scream," Clint sits up straight and huffs, crossing his arms.  
  
Natasha only spares him a look and rolls her eyes. "We're watching _The Ring_ ," she tells Steve, and pats the space next to her.  
  
"No, don't," Clint interjects quickly. "Cap, get out of here now," he says seriously and Natasha slaps him on the arm. "You'll have nightmares, and then—OW!"  
  
"Just because you're a baby doesn't mean Steve is."  
  
Steve is curious so he sits down despite the warning look Clint gives him. The lights dim again and the movie starts back on.  
  
"Holy shit—holy shit—" Clint mumbles as the girl crawls more. " _HOLY SHIT_ —"  
  
Steve learns from then that Natasha is fond of watching horror movies but not alone, and so Clint watches them with her in exchange for chick flicks that Natasha absolutely despises. Steve has seen _Mean Girls_ and _Shutter_ and _Legally Blonde_ and _Ju-On_ until Bruce joins them one day, and his movie experience expands to _District 9_ and _Lord of the Rings_.  
  
"What are you guys doing?"  
  
Everyone turns as Tony stares at all of them like he doesn't remember who they are.  
  
"Movie Night," Bruce answers, gesturing him in.  
  
"How long has this been going on and why wasn't I invited?" Tony pouts, but comes over to join them. He settles in the space behind their huddle so that he can lean his back against the couch.  
  
"We tried," Clint shrugs, not very concerned. "You didn't like _Transformers_ , remember?"  
  
"That is an insult to my—"  
  
"Yes, yes, we know, Stark," Natasha cuts in. "Clint, if you try and snatch the remote one more time…"  
  
The archer immediately holds up his hands in defense. "Just don't choose another scary movie. _Please._ I vote for _The Nanny Diaries_."  
  
The expression that filters through Natasha's expression can be only be categorized as disgust.  
  
"The Harvard Hottie?" Clint tries. "I thought girls love that kind of stuff!"  
  
"Only a simpering fool, Barton."  
  
"What's a Harvard Hottie?" Steve asks.  
  
Before Clint launches into an explanation, Tony looks up from the food he had been inhaling from the plastic box. " _Tropic Thunder_."  
  
There are collective groans all around, except for Steve.  
  
"No. Oh _god_ no."  
  
" _What_ ," Tony sniffs, affronted. "Why are all of you hating on my movie choice, huh?"  
  
"What's that one about?"  
  
"Trust me, Cap," Bruce pats his knee. "You don't want to go there."  
  
"Okay."  
  
"Hey—I resent that—"  
  
"What about _Not Another Teen Movie_?"  
  
"That's even worse."  
  
"Tasha, you're harsh."  
  
" _Prometheus._ "  
  
"Bruce, that's not even out on DVD yet. And, rule number twenty three, no alien movies."  
  
"What's wrong with alien movies, other than the fact that it's all unrealistic pieces of silicone and goo?"  
  
"Tony, you weren't here when we watched _Star Ship Troopers_ , were you?"  
  
"Shut up Bruce, I'm starting to think you're not a very nice guy—"  
  
Finally after much hassle, they settle on _Sherlock Holmes_ , because Clint absolutely refused another horror movie, Natasha was not going to select another teenage cheesy flick, and Bruce wanted some smartness in the film. Tony had no say, and well, Steve pretty much didn't know what to suggest, so he let the others choose.  
  
The lights were dimmed again as the movie started, and for some reason all of them remained on the floor. Steve glanced over at Tony noting that the light illuminating underneath his shirt was pretty distracting—it casted a glow around the owner as he ate.  
  
Tony raised his eyebrows when he noticed he was stared at, and well, two could play the staring game. He could see the curious glimmer in Steve eyes as the other looked at the arc reactor, and his jaw moved like he wanted to ask. Thankfully it's not the appropriate time, and Tony forces himself to watch the movie even if Steve half glances at him throughout the way.  
  
He knows Steve still wants to continue that apology but he hasn't given the other any chance to.  
  
There isn't a need for it.

 

* * *

  
  
As much as Tony watches Steve secretly, he also avoids Steve. No one really notices except Pepper, but Pepper is away and thus no one calls him out on his actions. He does it subtly. It's not like he ignores Steve when they happen to be in the same room. He doesn't make Steve go away when the super soldier brings food for him on occasion. He invites him in, chats and banters like they're friends. He acts like they've never fought before, and Steve generally responses well to friendly conversation.  
  
However, he knows the fight is not forgotten between them both.  
  
Steve may laugh or smile at his jokes but there's always a cautious look in his eye waiting for an opportunity to steer the conversation. Tony doesn't let him.  
  
Its tiring work, so if possible, he avoids the American dream. He holes himself up in the lab under the pretense that he has work to do—which is true, and he has a ton of ideas shoved in the invention box should he ever want to test a theory he's randomly thought of before—and he avoids spending even more time than he would with Steve and the rest of the avengers. Everyone just assumes it's a Tony thing to immerse himself in the lab. It's half true.  
  
But then Tony is Tony and sometimes he doesn't know when to keep his mouth shut. He enters the kitchen to get a cup of coffee, fully intending to play the whole I-can't-function-pre-coffee part and perhaps walk off oblivious that Steve is in the same room, but his mouth betrays him.  
  
"What the hell are you _wearing_?" is out of his mouth before he can stop it.  
  
Steve turns, and his arm are full of groceries as other holds the door of the refrigerator open. He looks genuinely confused as he shoots Tony a suspicious look.  
  
Tony looks again at the tight skinny jeans the super soldier has on his legs. He's pretty sure the Captain's wardrobe was all plaid and trousers with belts and he's never seen Steve wear anything like _tight skinny jeans_ ever. It really accentuates his figure, but that's not the point. The point is Tony thought the world would end when Steve stops his old man habits.  
  
Steve seems to notice the general stare at his pants and he faintly blushes. "Is it weird?"  
  
"Yes," Tony says immediately.  
  
"Don't listen to him," Natasha suddenly speaks and both of them jump. Mostly Tony, because Natasha walks past him from behind. "You look fine."  
  
"No he doesn't," Tony protests. "He looks…he looks...well," he wrinkles his nose. "Disgustingly modern."  
  
"That was the point when Natasha helped me pick it out," Steve agrees, and he turns back to sort the groceries in the refrigerator. "Good morning you both," he says a second later.  
  
Tony doesn't even know why the guy has raw food in his hands in a plastic bag because the last time he checked, JARVIS handled all the food via delivery service.  
  
"What else did you sucker him into buying?" he asks curiously, because Black Widow and Captain America being shopping buddies? Huh, first time he's ever heard of it.  
  
"Decent, _fashionable_ clothing," Natasha responds as she pours herself a glass of milk and seats herself at the table. "Unlike you." She gives the Black Sabbath t-shirt he's wearing a look.  
  
"Did somebody say shopping?" Clint steps in with Bruce behind him.  
  
"Yeah, check out Captain's tights." Tony is still judging those jeans.  
  
Clint whistles, and nods in approval. Bruce only smiles, not very interested in the change of fashion. The scientist busies himself with working the coffee machine that Tony was supposed to head over but have forgotten, and the archer sits besides Natasha and just waits.  
  
"Sorry guys, you'll have to wait a while," Steve says, as he washes his hands at the sink. "I got held up at the supermarket."  
  
"No problem, Cap," Clint replies. "Take your time."  
  
Tony squints in confusion at the gathering scene. It's a Saturday morning, and it's strange how everyone is sitting at the table like its normal. In fact, they all seem to be waiting for something and Tony doesn't know what. He grabs coffee after Bruce, and he finds himself drifting to one of the chairs at the table too.  
  
"Tony, do you want some too?" Steve asks. He's the only one at the stove.  
  
"Want some what?"  
  
"Breakfast," Clint answers. "Go away, Stark, and there's more for us."  
  
"I'm evicting you out, Barton," Tony states.  
  
It appears that it's a very normal affair for Steve to cook them all breakfast. Probably only on Saturday mornings, but still. Tony makes an effort never to stay in the kitchen more than necessary in case Steve tries to make more than casual conversation. He doesn't realize that the entire team awaits Steve's cooking like he's a Michelin chef. Steve makes normal food like bacon and sausages and eggs, but the smell is incredibly delicious, and as Tony takes a bite, its taste too.  
  
"And where did you learn cooking, wonder boy?" he asks Steve in between bites after the solider sits and starts on his own portion that is much bigger than theirs.  
  
"I just had to," Steve shrugs, but his eyes train hard on his plate of food. "I…was one of the oldest at the orphanage, so…"  
  
Steve doesn't offer any more information than that, and Tony doesn't press him for it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The spider thing? Kiss Kiss Bang Bang. If you have not watched that awesome awesome movie which stars RDJ you are clearly missing out on life.
> 
> Also, Movie Night because headcanonnnn. And references. Hee.


	6. Chapter 6

Tony Stark is fond of throwing parties. That's a given. He really does. But he isn't that fond of attending those parties wherein he has to pretend to play nice and drink with people he doesn't want to, like investors who are only interested in stealing his technology. However, if it's _his_ party, then well.  
  
The party is to celebrate the success of the Maria Stark Foundation he's set up a few years ago. Right after the Afghanistan incident, he's pulled out everything relating to the weapons industry and focused on tackling any problems that had arisen from all those years he had profited from weapon sales. The foundation deals with poor kids with ruined families that he's destroyed, or anyone in need who had been affected by his revamp of the company. It also finances various charities or renovation projects that Pepper vets and let him choose. Lately the foundation has also been stretched to cover for the expenses of the Avengers—any measly sum that S.H.I.E.L.D offers is pathetic because that alone cannot even cover the maintenance of his own suit.  
  
Initially he wonders if the rest of his housemates (it's still strange turning his head around that concept) would mind the bit of noise but heck, all of them were invited to the party anyway. He ensures that no one is able to access the top few floors of their private accommodation and labs, and all the party would be restricted to the lower levels. Pepper plans most of it—he gets to input who he wants to be invited and it doesn't really make a difference because she already has a guest list—just in case he turns it into another birthday party like the other time.  
  
In his defense, he was dying.  
  
Party means food and booze and pretty girls and frankly he's looking forward to it, but mostly because he gets to see the rest of the avengers decked out in formal attire.  
  
Natasha and Clint seem the most comfortable, probably because they've been on missions which require them to blend in such functions. Natasha is wearing a blackless black dress that makes her look sultrier than ever with dark red lip stick, and Clint wears a standard black tux. Both of them stand casually midst all the other guests mingling sipping champagne, but their eyes dart around like they expect some other assassin to attempt a snipe.  
  
"Quit staring at that spot, Barton," Tony claps his back when he passes them both. "And…I still can't read you," he admits after giving Natasha long look.  
  
She only sips her champagne in response.  
  
"That blinking red light is distracting," Clint answers with a huff. "Can't you hide your security cameras better, Stark?"  
  
"Huh, I can't see anything," Tony replies. "You need to get your eyes check out, Birdboy."  
  
Before the boys launch into a childish bicker, Natasha slides her arm around Clint's and pulls him towards the dance floor, swiftly depositing her now empty glass on a passing waiter's tray. Tony is at first left staring curiously at the movement, but then he spies a lot of men around him glancing at the Russian's footsteps looking disappointed. She must definitely have felt the leers.  
  
Pepper is conversing with Bruce at a corner, so Tony bounds up to them happily. Bruce looks uneasy, and it's understandable. He doesn't want to risk a green incident with so many other people around, and it is after much hackling that he agrees to not be stuck in the lab where he truthfully would rather be. Bruce looks much dapper in a suit than Tony thought he would, but in his defense, he's mostly seen his science bro in pyjamas or casual shirt and pants or a lab coat.  
  
Tony tries to ask Pepper to dance, but she just smiles and shakes her head in her own Pepper way, and he futilely tries to take back the bottle of Asgardian mead he was swishing about in his hand.  
  
"No, Tony, you are not getting smashed today," Pepper chides.  
  
"But its _magic_ ," Tony insists. He's not drunk yet—only a slight flush to his cheeks and his mouth doesn't seem to have a filter, but wait, that's totally normal. "It's the best thing ever invented. Or existed," he presses on. "No hangover with the high. Have you tried it?" he grins, and tries to press Pepper into taking a swig. "Come on, Pep, you've got to try it. Its tastes like strawberries and—"  
  
"And I'm allergic to—"  
  
"—strawberries," Tony bites his bottom lip. "Well, you can finally know how they taste like without the allergic reaction."  
  
"I know how they taste like," Pepper rolls her eyes.  
  
"Okay, fine. It's like…olives. You like olives don't you?"  
  
"I like olives with my martini," she responds. "Of course you wouldn't happen to remember that day—"  
  
"—wherein I danced with you? I thought we had a little special something—"  
  
"—and you left me there for three hours?" she smiles. "By myself?"  
  
Tony half grimaces and half grins, because he's honestly apologetic for that screwed up moment, but he doesn't know how to show it. "I won't do it again."  
  
"You just did," Pepper raises her eyebrows. "Three hours ago."  
  
Bruce is just watching them from the side quietly, looking interestingly at the décored wall. To be honest he's quite used to watching the other two interact, but he just has nothing else to do.  
  
"Pep," Tony whines. "I had to open the party with a bang you know that," his mouth just runs, because it is true that he was going to get her a drink after complimenting her dress…and then he got distracted. "And I had to get freedom in pants drunk—don't tell me you've never wondered what kind of drunk he is—"  
  
"Tony, I've been watching you from this corner, and I haven't seen Steve around you."  
  
"Oh," Tony blinks. "Where is he?"  
  
Pepper shrugs, and Bruce also shakes his head when they both turn to him.  
  
"Well, that just won't do," Tony decides. "Big guy, take my girlfriend for a dance since she doesn't want to dance with _me_ ," he sniffs. "I'll search for the star spangled man."  
  
Bruce looks vaguely uncomfortable, but Pepper smiles at him and offers him her hand. "A pleasure, Dr Banner."  
  
"No hand below the waist," Tony warns Bruce with a mock look. "JARVIS will be watching you."  
  
Pepper gives him a light kiss on the lips before pressing the bottle of mead back into his hand. "I don't want to find you in a puddle of vomit at the end of this, you hear me?"  
  
"Crystal," Tony grins, but crosses his fingers behind his back.  
  
Bruce and Pepper make way to the dance floor, and Tony swirls around greeting more people he knows all while keeping an eye out for Steve. He realises he hasn't seen Steve all night. He first assumes that Steve is somewhere else on the floor—the floor is big, so it's not a surprise if he doesn't see him—or that he's found a dame, I mean, woman, to get along with, but then on second thought it was more probable that he was hiding somewhere.  
  
"JARVIS, pinpoint Cap's location," Tony flops unto one of the couches besides the glass table and taps the glass.  
  
JARVIS immediately scans the tower for Steve's heat signal and zeros in on a particular floor.  
  
"Captain Rogers is on the ninetieth level, sir."  
  
"What's he doing there?" Tony asks, switching the signal to camera view on the glass, and he expands it out further for clarity.  
  
"He appears to be sitting on the platform watching the sky."  
  
"How long as he been there?"  
  
"Since two hours and twenty nine minutes ago."  
  
"Huh," Tony takes another mouthful of mead and trudges to the elevator. "What a spoilsport."

 

* * *

  
  
"Cap," Tony begins. "I did not throw this party for you to—OWW WHAT THE _FUCKING_ HELL—!" he just chokes off and clutches his nose in pain. "SON OF A—"  
  
Steve scrambles up with a wide eyed apologetic look. "I'm sorry! I'm so sorry, I didn't mean—you shouldn't have scared me like that!"  
  
His hands are awkwardly trying to help the injured man in some way, but he doesn't really know what to do because Tony is clutching his face and rolling on the platform.  
  
"Did I break it? I'm so sorry—"  
  
"I sincerely hope not," Tony replies, now rubbing the bridge of his nose. "What the hell is your forehead made of, Rogers? God, you and Thor—" he shakes his head. "Lightning boy slammed his bare head against my _metal_ mask—I mean, what the fuck is wrong with you people?"  
  
Steve looks a little bothered at his language, but he doesn't comment. "Sorry. I got a shock when you spoke."  
  
It's strange, because when Tony had squatted over the lying form of Steve splayed out on the platform he hadn't anticipated the sudden collision of forehead and nose, because he thought the super soldier would've _heard_ him walking up. Hello, super hearing?  
  
"Sorry."  
  
"Quite saying that word, Rogers, I'm allergic to it," Tony huffs, and pulls himself upright.  
  
Thankfully he had foresight to set the bottle of mead down before he went and freaked the super soldier out. He drinks another mouthful, hopefully to get the dizzying stars swirling in his head out.  
  
"As I was saying, what was I saying? Oh yeah, what is your spangled ass doing here? I did not throw this party for you to come up here and mope like an emo kid."  
  
"What's an…emo…"  
  
"Depressed. Sad. You want to cut yourself—"  
  
"I don't—"  
  
"Don't tell me you're planning to jump off this platform," Tony scrutinizes him. "If you want to commit suicide, don't do it on my tower. The cleanup is disgusting, and personally I don't want to see a red star-shaped splat on my front door—"  
  
"I wasn't!" Steve sighs defensively. "I was just…looking at the sky. Thinking about stuff."  
  
"Oh yeah? Like what?"  
  
"Like…" Steve swallows uncomfortably, picking at the collar at his neck.  
  
He has folded the other jacket neatly beside him, but he's left the vest and tie on when he lay back to watch the stars. Tony has folded himself into a comfortable lotus sitting position and is merely waiting for Steve to finish his sentence as he drinks. Of course he's more likely to run his mouth first.  
  
"Like how that woman downstairs has a great rack?"  
  
"What—I-I…no!"  
  
"Maybe you're more of an ass person."  
  
Steve just shakes his head with a flush running down his neck. "Tony, just, stop it."  
  
"Even if you are a ninety six year old virgin," Tony starts, grinning around the rim of his bottle. "I'd bet you've got a dirty gutter in that head of yours."  
  
Steve shoots him an annoyed look that doesn't really work that well with the red tint. "How do you know I'm a...a…"  
  
"Unicorn?" Tony supplies helpfully, but at the confused look he gets in return he moans. "Cap, you gotta get into the lingo. It's no fun when you don't understand anything I'm saying."  
  
"Even if I did, I'd probably still won't understand what you're saying," Steve replies dryly.  
  
"Touché," Tony shrugs. "Anyway, how I know the great American icon not debauched is simply by your fondue story I read in your file and JARVIS would've recorded any sexy times you had in the tower—which is none."  
  
It takes a while for that to sink in, and Steve is personally torn between being more horrified about the fondue mention or the fact that JARVIS records everything. "How do you—how…that's not in the file!"  
  
"Not in the file S.H.I.E.L.D gave me," Tony agrees. "But I may have seen it written in a military report for the time wherein you disobeyed orders and raided a HYDRA base."  
  
"But the only people who knew were Peggy and…Howard—"  
  
"—and one of them happens to be related to me, unfortunately," Tony continues on blithely, without much emotion. "So I got his stuff. That's what happens when he dies right? His stuff becomes mine."  
  
Steve's voice comes in so softly that Tony doesn't hear it at first.  
  
"…Do you hate him?" Steve isn't really looking at him.  
  
"Yes," Tony states immediately. Then about a minute after of silence, "Maybe."  
  
"Howard was…a nice guy," Steve says after a while, quietly. "He was a friend."  
  
"I'm sure he was," Tony retorts, and he can't really keep the bitterness out of his voice. "He spent his life searching for you. Obviously you had to be at least _friends_ to be more important than his own son."  
  
Tony doesn't know what prompted him to say all of it, but it has to be under the influence of the mead. Usually he isn't so open mouthed about Howard, and there is a good reason why. He hates this supposed father figure he never had. He also hates the fact that he's always yearned for Howard to be the father figure he was supposed to be. He hates, hates, hates. But at the same time he was a father who taught Tony more things than anyone else.  
  
"I'm sorry," Steve says again. "Director Fury told me not to say anything about—"  
  
"—because I have daddy issues?" Tony sniffs. "Bitch."  
  
Steve clicks his mouth shut after that, and looks away. Tony just drinks his alcohol. He sneaks a glance at Steve and notices that the super soldier looks hurt, like he's been punched. Tony knows he's being an ass because Howard was someone Steve had lost—but he's lost a father too, no matter how shitty Howard was at it.  
  
"Can you stop drinking that?" Steve speaks up again, when the tilting of the glass bottle is all that both of them can hear amongst the chilly night.  
  
"I drink however much I want."  
  
"It's not good for—"  
  
"Oh fuck you, Rogers," Tony glares, and he's forgotten why he even came up to find the super soldier. "Yes, I was an alcoholic but key word, was, wonder boy, I know my fucking limits! I'm not stupid enough to get addicted again so save your sparkling spangled breath and just keep all that preaching—"  
  
"I'm not—I'm not saying—"  
  
"—who the fuck gave you any right to judge me just because you're Mr Perfect—"  
  
"I'M NOT!" Steve bellows, and suddenly the air is so quiet that it's creepy. "I'M NOT, OKAY?" he takes a deep breath. "I'm not perfect. I'm just…just…"  
  
"…trying to be a good man," Tony fills in for him.  
  
Steve is staring at him stricken, and Tony immediately regretted that he opened his mouth.  
  
"Aren't you?" he spits out, just in case Steve says anything else.  
  
"I was," Steve agrees. "I am," he corrects. "I try but I...Tony…" the super soldier sighs. "You make it very hard for me," he almost smiles ruefully. "Half the time I want to...to punch you but I..." Steve misses the raised eyebrows from Tony as he continues on. "But then other times I...like that day, I...I could've killed you."  
  
Tony is just wondering how the hell this came about. "What?"  
  
"That's what I was thinking about. The portal," Steve elaborates. "I gave the order to close the portal when you were still inside. I thought…I thought you were flying back out and I didn't realize you weren't flying but falling—and I…I should've known—"  
  
"Well you didn't."  
  
"But I should have," Steve insists, running a hand through his hair. "If I had said it one second earlier I would've made you stuck in space, unconscious, and you would've _died_ , Tony."  
  
"But you didn't," Tony says again.  
  
"But—"  
  
"If you closed the portal later, the explosion would've reached the portal and then it would be even worse if the portal blasted open permanently because of that. You did the right thing, Cap."  
  
Steve is just shaking his head. "How can you say that?"  
  
"What? That all of New York is worth the possibility to get me out there alive? One person?" Tony laughs. "Come on, Rogers."  
  
"This isn't funny!" Steve snaps. "Your life is important!"  
  
"Ha. Ha," Tony just puts that in to see the irritation rising in the Captain's eyes. "Cap, I'm flattered," he says. "Please don't say something like 'I can't live without you my one and only' because I will cry. I will cry _tears_."  
  
"Why can't you take anything seriously?" the soldier demands, raising his voice that just yields submission. Clearly he's at the end of his temper, and Steve is scary when he's mad. "Tony, I nearly killed you and you think it's _funny_? What the damn hell is wrong with you?"  
  
"Well, you've been staring at the stars thinking of me the past three hours. You tell me."  
  
Steve just sighs, controlling his breathing.  
  
"Look," Tony drinks a mouthful for liquid courage, because he never wants to even breach this topic. "One person, versus the entire New York. You've done it before yourself," he states. "Of course, I did it for myself," he continues on, tone hard. "Because I'm the kind of guy to let someone else lay down the fucking wire for me to crawl over—"  
  
"No, you're wrong," Steve cuts in firmly. "I think you cut the wire. Tony, I—"  
  
"Shh, I really don't want to hear it—"  
  
"I'm just trying to say—"  
  
"No, just shut that mouth—"  
  
"But I—"  
  
"Close it—"  
  
"I—"  
  
"Zip it."  
  
Steve is glaring by now. He has a hard look and a clench in his jaw that shows how irritated he is, and he snatches the bottle from Tony.  
  
Without a further word he downs it.  
  
Tony stares, and his empty hand clutches the air uselessly. He's still staring at how Steve swallows and swallows without taking a breath, and he's still staring when Steve puts the empty bottle down and wipes his mouth with the back of his head.  
  
"…That was my last bottle of Asgardian mead," Tony says finally.  
  
"Good," Steve huffs.  
  
"No seriously. I don't know when Thor is visiting again and that shit is the best thing ever—you so owe me a bottle, scout boy," Tony frowns at him. "Hey, how many fingers am I holding up?"  
  
Steve looks vaguely confused at the turn of topic. "Err…none?"  
  
"Damn," Tony mutters. "Are you high now? Come on, you gotta be feeling at least a tiny bit high. You drank like, half the bottle in a span of a minute. Don't tell me that was all for nothing."  
  
"I told you—"  
  
"—yes, I know, but _Asgardian_ ," Tony emphasizes. " _Magic_. Normally I'd say fuck magic but if that stuff can overturn some blackmail for me—" he suddenly laughs with glee. "Cap, I think that flush came from that mead."  
  
Steve can't see himself so he just denies it, but in truth he's feeling slightly light-headed, not that he'd give Tony the pleasure of knowing.  
  
"Downstairs. Now," Tony commands, and he has a wicked smirk on. "I'm gonna pump you up with so much booze you're going to be drowning in it, Rogers. And then you're gonna dance on my table top while JARVIS records everything and uploads it on YouTube."  
  
"No."  
  
"For serious," Tony is prodding him as he stands up. "Come down to the party, Cap."  
  
Steve shakes his head. "I'm fine up here."  
  
"Steve," Tony cocks his head. "I just want to make sure that that bottle of mead did not go to waste. Just a couple of shots more and I guarantee you'll be belting out _The Star Spangled Man With A Plan_ for me. "  
  
The super soldier blushes at the mention of the song but he keeps his voice steady. "No."  
  
"You owe me."  
  
"I owe you nothing."  
  
"Stubborn," Tony notes and a smirk stretches on his face, because the alcohol flush is starting to colour quite beautifully on Steve's skin. "Fine. I won't get you to play body shots, you party pooper. Just get a drink. Find a woman. What's so hard about that?"  
  
"I don't know anyone there."  
  
Tony raises an eyebrow. "You know me. And Clint. And Bruce and Natasha and Pepper. I wouldn't say you don't know anyone."  
  
Steve answers quietly. "It's not the same."  
  
It's not the same as seventy years ago, and Tony knows that.  
  
"Doesn't have to be." Tony is holding out his hand but Steve just stares at it. "Steve, just take the damn hand, my arm is aching."  
  
He takes it.


	7. Chapter 7

It's unfortunate that Tony never got to make Steve drunk because the super soldier basically plastered himself with Bruce, and Bruce doesn't exactly partake in the excessive guzzling art of downing alcohol either. He did try shoving the super soldier various types of booze but in the attempt to convince Steve that it wasn't poison, he downed the first cup of everything. And Steve rejected all his offers. So thus he couldn't really remember what happened halfway through and he awoke the next morning in his bed with a massive hangover.  
  
There was only a sticky note on the bedside table from Pepper informing him that she took the liberty of buying herself a thank you present already.  
  
But anyway the party was about a week ago and all of them have returned to their boring lives—or as boring as a couple of deadly assassins, a super soldier, a raging hulk and a genius billionaire playboy philanthropist lives can be. Or as boring as living in the Stark—wait no, _Avengers_ tower can be.  
  
"Harder."  
  
"Harder."  
  
" _Harder_."  
  
"Yes, yes, I'm pressing _harder_ ," Clint huffs, trying to put more strength into the movements of his hands.  
  
His fingers stretch over the back of Natasha's bare shoulder blades and he rubs with more force, earning a satisfied sigh from her lips. All of them are in the indoor heated pool area, but no one is actually swimming except for Steve. Bruce is sprawled on one of the reclining chairs by the glass windows reading a book, Tony is on another chair with a martini in hand and holograms floating about him. Natasha is lying stomach down with her eyes shut close as her masseur aka Clint Barton tried to massage her back.  
  
"Harder."  
  
Tony didn't bother hiding his snicker as he crumples a paper hologram and aims it towards Clint. The hologram shoots past Clint, earning a surprised jump, but is swallowed by JARVIS into the virtual recycling bin.  
  
"Fuck you, Stark," Clint growls, whipping his head around to glare.  
  
"Don't blame me for your incompetence," Tony grins just as Natasha make a displeased sound.  
  
"Clint, if you don't start putting _effort_ into it I'm considering our deal over."  
  
Clint responds with an immediate movement of his hands.  
  
"Thirty minutes for a ten minute trade is a total day light robbery," Tony peers at them, slightly curious.  
  
He had more or less cleared his junk folders—the ones which he stashed random fabulous ideas but they were too fabulous to be turned into reality for most—and he had been watching the assassins at their corner for a while now. It was quite hilarious to see Clint so concentrated in massaging Natasha's back that he was already sweating half way through. His muscles were stretched taunt as he worked her shoulders but all Natasha responded with was orders to press harder.  
  
"It's a bargain," Clint grunts, breathing heavily. "You won't understand until you've knocked it."  
  
"Sex with someone codenamed _Black Widow_?" Tony asks. "I'd rather keep my head thank you very much."  
  
"I'm alive, so that's a myth," Clint paused long enough to smirk, but it was enough for Natasha to swing her legs around his neck and throw him on the floor, all while keeping a hand on the strings of the top of her bikini together. She ties it properly and let loose the archer, ignoring the coughs.  
  
"Tash! Tash, wait!" Clint scrambles after her. "It was a joke! Come on!" He runs fast enough to catch her by the elbow. "I gave you thirty minutes, fair and square," he pleaded. "Nat, please?"  
  
Natasha sighs and elbows him in the gut. "Don't call me that," she states. "Get on the chair. Your ten minutes has started."  
  
Clint beams and wastes no time stripping his shirt off. He twists his neck around to test the soreness—he was quite lucky to not have it broken—and slid stomach down on the seat. Natasha squirts some scented oil they had placed at the side and rubbed her hands together to warm them up, and then focused on Clint's back.  
  
He _screamed_.  
  
"OWW OKAY OKAY I'M SORRY! TASH—I'M SORRY OKAY? FUCK _FUCK_ OWWW—"  
  
Tony side eyes them for a moment before quickly shifting his attention to his holograms. From those angry red lines down Clint's back, he did not want to get pulled into whatever they were doing. If Bruce showed any indication of the noises, he merely flipped a page and continued reading. Steve was the only one who came up dripping from the pool with a look of concern.  
  
"What's going on?"  
  
"Kinky sex," Tony replies absently.  
  
"Owwwww…." Clint is still moaning into his forearm.  
  
"Is he all right?"  
  
"He will be," Natasha replies with a smirk, her hands trailing Clint's back gently now.  
  
Clint makes some sort of a whimpering noise but those quietened down when Natasha starts to work her hands from the top of his spine and down his shoulders. It was amazing how the archer suddenly became pliant and a moan slipped from his lips.  
  
"Oh fuck _kk_ —"  
  
The sounds that followed after became increasingly inappropriate but it seemed like neither Clint nor Natasha cared. Steve turned away to hide the rising flush to his face and walked back to the pool's edge to make another lap, but Tony called him.  
  
"Hey, Cap."  
  
Tony is staring at the way Clint is shamelessly groaning with a kind of interest.  
  
"I want one."  
  
"Want one what?" Steve turns to face him.  
  
("Just a bit harder, Tash.")  
  
Tony stretches his arms up and beckons Steve closer. "I'll do you if you'll do me."  
  
("Yeah, that's the—ng _hh_ —")  
  
Steve looks positively scandalized, and Tony laughs. "I guess Pepper wouldn't mind, really," he grins, sizing the soldier up and down. "But we'll need a bigger bed. All that gorgeous couldn't possibly fit."  
  
" _What_ are you talking about?"  
  
("Hahh…ngghhh…")  
  
"A massage, what else did you think?" Tony rolls his eyes. "Come on, big boy."  
  
Maybe Steve is too used to following orders, because he finds himself next to Tony who is picking through the bottles on the floor. "Lavender, jasmine, rose—why are they all so girly?—lotus, musk—ah, musk is good," he nods, and pushes the bottle into Steve's hands.  
  
"But I don't—"  
  
"I'm sure you're given someone a massage some time in your life," Tony says, looking at him. "I'm not asking for a professional do—just work those knots out of my back. I've been sitting in this thing all day and it hurts," he grins. "I promise you'll get your turn. After me."  
  
Steve gives it a thought for a moment. No harm earning a back rub. "Fine," he agrees. "Give me a moment."  
  
He goes over to where he had set his towel and pats himself dry before walking back. By then Tony has strips his wife beater and tossed it carelessly on the floor, allowing his arc reactor to glint in the light. Tony catches Steve staring at the device longer than necessary but did not comment, only to lie himself stretched out down.  
  
Steve has experience with back rubs—his mother used to give him some when his body was aching from the constant flu viruses he caught, and he returned the favour from time to time when his mother's back ached from the household chores. That was before she passed away and after that Bucky took over. Bucky used to—  
  
"You can stare at my ass later, stars and stripes," Tony mumbles into his forearm as he settles comfortably. "Work those hands."  
  
"Bossy," Steve mutters under his breath, but he leans forwards and spreads his hands over Tony's back.  
  
The mechanic hums in satisfaction with his eyes closed, but thankfully he did not exude weird noises like Clint was doing.  
  
"Ahh—not too hard, super soldier."  
  
"Sorry."  
  
It was easy to forget that he is a lot stronger than he was in the past for something he hadn't done in a long time. Minutes passed by quickly and soon enough there was a loud smack coming from the other reclining chair, followed by a pained whine and protest.  
  
("Do you always have to do that, Tasha?")  
  
("Blood circulation. You're as white as a chalkboard.")  
  
("You forgot those red stripes you made.")  
  
("Get up, Clint. My turn.")  
  
("Fine. Fine.")  
  
"Hold on a moment," Tony shifts, easing his chest up for a moment to flip the cushion from the top of the chair lower down to his neck. This allowed a slight elevation for his arc reactor so that it wasn't pressing so uncomfortably. "That's better," he sighs to himself, wriggling back into a comfortable position.  
  
Steve continues his hand movements when Tony stops moving. "Does it hurt?" he asks.  
  
"Hmm?"  
  
"The thing on your chest."  
  
"Uh no, it doesn't," Tony answered. "It's an arc reactor, by the way."  
  
"It was in your file, but I didn't really understand much of it," The soldier admits. He knows a vague one sentence of how Tony had invented it during his Afghanistan capture, but the scientific jargon just blew his mind. "But it goes into your….flesh…"  
  
"Brilliantly noted, Sherlock," Tony nods. "It has to be close enough to my heart as possible so the electromagnetism is at its strongest to make sure those metal bits in there don't kill me."  
  
Nonetheless it's a brilliant invention.  
  
"Technically, I just resized it smaller," Tony is still talking. "But hey, those other dudes Obi hired couldn't do it, so I guess it's really my genius after all."  
  
Sometimes Steve wonders how Tony does it. Tony talks about the past things in his life like it doesn't matter to him—he throws words around like it happened to someone else, like it's a one-off simple mistake that he waves away carelessly. But at the same time Tony doesn't _talk_ about it. Steve is aware of weapons dealer Tony and the aftermath of the incident from S.H.I.E.L.D's file. The press was also extremely busy during that point of time.  
  
A terrorist capture is of no laughing matter, because Steve knows what interrogation and torture is like. Having someone you thought was your closest friend betraying you isn't something so simple either. Sometimes Steve thinks about the possibility of being captured by HYDRA should he ever fail, and he shudders. Sometimes he wonders if Bucky would have ever done something so horrible that Obidiah Stane had done, and he doesn't even finish the thought.  
  
Yet Tony seems to go on like nothing has happened—and the only proof of it is the arc reactor sticking out of his chest. That's the thing keeping him alive, powering his suit, telling everyone in the world that Tony Stark has been through so much and will go through more.  
  
"I'm glad you made it," Steve says.  
  
Tony turns his head so that he can look at Steve. "So am I."

* * *

  
  
About a month passes since Tony found Steve's sketchbook in storage before he decides to give it back to its owner. He has kept it in his possession ever since he found it but he doesn't know why. Giving it back to Steve wasn't his first thought. Steve probably assumed everything he owned in the past was long and gone—and there wasn't really a need to correct him.  
  
What would Steve do with his past military records? Would he want it? Would it hurt more to hold something that dragged him back to the past, knowing that it _was and forever will be_ the past?  
  
What would Steve do with the recording of his supposed last moments? Listen to it, reminiscence, cry, and never let go?  
  
"I understand where you're coming from, Tony," Pepper says with a sigh. "But let Steve decide. It's not yours to choose."  
  
"You're right—you're always right, what am I saying," Tony mutters, tossing the sketchbook between his hands. "But what if he—"  
  
"Tony," Pepper pins him with a look. "You owe him that much."  
  
"Me?" Tony does a double take. "What do you mean _me_ owing him? He's living in my tower, using my stuff—"  
  
"You terrorize that poor decent man enough with your mouth—"  
  
"I could do much worse—"  
  
"—and all he wants is to apologise in which you still haven't let him—"  
  
"I told him I accepted! How is my fault that I—"  
  
"But did you mean it?" Pepper is sitting very close to him at the edge of the bed now. "Did you?"  
  
Tony stops fidgeting with the book. "…I don't know," he answers after a while, and then he squints. "Are you really not cheating on me with blondie?"  
  
Pepper flicks his forehead. "Go give that to him and don't come back till you're done."  
  
"Can't I do it tomorrow? Look, it's nearly two a.m. and—"  
  
"And you know Steve is still in the gym."  
  
"How do you know that?"  
  
"JARVIS," Pepper answers simply as Tony glares at his ceiling.  
  
"TOASTER!"  
  
"Go on down."  
  
"Peppp—"  
  
"If you don't do this now, you're going to procrastinate till the end of time, isn't that right, Mr Stark?"  
  
Tony opened his mouth and then closed it. "That's absolutely right, Miss Potts. God, I hate it when you're right," he says, but his eyes are affixed on her mouth. "Which is…all…the…time—"  
  
A finger lands on his lips before he could kiss her.  
  
" _After_ you do it," Pepper tells him. "If you deal with it like a responsible adult then maybe…"  
  
"Maybe…?"  
  
Pepper just shrugs and climbs back under the covers. "Don't take too long."  
  
Tony huffs and steals a kiss anyway. "You promised," he reminds her, grinning. "I'll be back."  
  
She waves a hand at him as he strides out of their room that dims automatically as he leaves. He really doesn't want to do it but he knows he should. He's flipped through the entire sketchbook a few times, and it bugs him more and more whenever he sees the worn cover of it. He tries not to think about why.  
  
The sounds of impact on the punching bag can be heard even before the elevator door slides open. Tony pads quietly behind the man working out—watching how his skin is glistening with the effort exerted, the tense posture and controlled ragged breathing. It only takes about twenty seconds more for the punching bag to fly across the room like a rocket and burst upon its impact on the wall.  
  
"I really should make one that's stronger for you," Tony says, and Steve jumps and whirls around.  
  
"Tony?" he blinks, wiping the sweat from his brow. "What are you doing here?"  
  
Then his gaze switches to the decapitated punching bag across the room and he glances back at Tony again quickly looking guilty and ashamed. "Um, I…I'll pay for that."  
  
Tony smirks. "Cap, I think all the bags I have have been replaced by you already, so it's technically yours."  
  
Steve glances guiltily at the stack on the side because it's true. "I didn't mean to break them."  
  
"Don't worry about it, muscle boy," Tony says, head already churning with possible reinforced designs. "Titanium core, how about that? That should withstand your brutal assassination."  
  
"You don't have to," Steve gives a small smile, but he sighs and walks over to the mess of sand on the other side. A broom and dustpan is placed against the wall like this was entirely expected, and Steve works on getting the floor clean. "So…why are you here?"  
  
Tony shifts the book between his hands. "Why are _you_ here?" he counters. "It's past your bedtime."  
  
"I don't have a bedtime," Steve frowns.  
  
"Sure you do. It's usually three in the morning and you get up at six."  
  
"How do you—"  
  
"JARVIS," Tony answers simply and crosses his arms. "I'm pretty sure three hours of sleep isn't enough for a guy whose metabolism runs four times more than us lowly humans."  
  
"I've slept enough in the ice," Steve replies neutrally. "And you're not qualified to talk to me about sleeping habits."  
  
"Low burn, Cap."  
  
It's entirely strange how Tony actually wants to _talk_ to Steve, _maybe_ —but the latter doesn't want to. For once. Tony knows why the captain stays up late and punches the hell out of his equipment because Tony does the same with his metal toys. He knows the feeling. He knows why.  
  
"In any case," Tony holds up the book in his hands. "I'm here because I brought you something,"  
  
Tony keeps his eyes trained on the sketchbook in his hands. He doesn't want to look at Steve's expression because he doesn't want to be on the receiving end of any of those looks. Fingers reach out to the book and they're trembling—but they grasp the cover firmly and Tony drops his grip. Steve is silent. He doesn't stutter in surprise which makes Tony wary. Daringly Tony chances a glance at the other's face.  
  
It's blank.  
  
The gym is eerily quiet except for the flipping of pages as Steve thumbs through them slowly. Tony just watches—the hands, not the face—until the end flips shut.  
  
"Where…"  
  
Steve's voice is slightly raw, but strong.  
  
"I have a couple of stuff of yours from my dad," Tony says. "Military records, mostly. Medical records if you want. Some films you starred in, which are hilarious, by the way—"  
  
"Thanks," Steve interrupts, and it's soft. "Thanks, Tony."  
  
"No problem."  
  
Tony watches Steve staring hard at the book, thumb caressing the cover over and over. It stays like that for at least a minute until Tony notices that Steve's hands are trembling so hard that his wrists are shaking.  
  
"Hey, you should...uh, sit down."  
  
"I…y-yeah," Steve nods breathlessly. "Yeah."  
  
He all but sinks to his feet and sits on the floor because he doesn't know if he can move a few paces. It's still a big shock to hold something he thought he's lost forever. It doesn't seem real. Steve can still remember the moment when he scratches out the outline of the dancing monkey. He was sitting behind the stage, feeling cold and soaked from the miserable performance and rain. He had wondered if everything was a mistake. And then Peggy had given him a reason for it not to be.  
  
It doesn't seem that far away.  
  
But in reality it's been years. At least seventy years.  
  
When Steve closes his eyes he still can picture the sketches he tries to draw of Bucky after his best friend falls into the ice. He had broken three pencils from the amount of desperate gripping because he was so afraid he was never going to see Bucky again—and he wasn't—and he needed to remember. Remember how Bucky looked like and never forget.  
  
The sketchbook still has the roughed edge wherein he had torn pages out of because none of the pictures looked like his best friend. The Bucky he knew was always strong and brave and saved him one too many times. But the Bucky he draws are all scared and panicked expressions that is seared into his memory when Steve fails to grab his hand.  
  
And then suddenly it hurts. Hurts, hurts, _hurts_. It hurts because it reminds him of things he was never going to have. That dance he's promised Peggy. The date he had promised himself to suck it up and ask Peggy once the war was over. The life with the right partner he had found. Another trip to Coney island with Bucky. Watching Bucky marry the girl of his dreams and be his best man. An era of peace that he fought for.  
  
"I'm not supposed to be here," Steve mumbles out loud.  
  
"I knew it was a bad idea to give that thing to you," Tony mutters to himself. He sprawls out next to Steve and holds his palm out. "Give it back and we'll pretend none of this ever happened, capish?"  
  
Steve frowns. "Why…? It's mine and…"  
  
"Well…for one," Tony starts. "You're uh, crying."  
  
"I'm just…just…" Steve wants to say something as he wipes at his eye—he isn't even aware of the tears—but he ends up saying completely different things. "I don't have anyone here and it's just…hard. Difficult. It's not the same. I'm never meant to be here—"  
  
He isn't prepared for the hug that Tony pulls him in.  
  
It's at a very awkward angle considering that Tony is smaller than he is, and his back aches from the position, but he sinks into it anyway. He leans further down and grips the smaller man tightly because he doesn't want to speak anymore.  
  
"Look," Tony's voice is right at his ear, and it's devoid of any coy playfulness. "I...I know I said some things and you don't have to forgive me, but you're not alone. I know the feeling, trust me. You can have the world bought at your fingertips and have everybody worshipping your feet or trying to get into your bed but you can still be the loneliest person in the world. It's even worse when you know you were going to die alone. Twice," Tony swallows. "So…what I'm trying to say is that you have me. Us. The Avengers. And Pepper. And JARVIS."  
  
Steve is still clinging on and Tony is starting to feel slightly awkward, especially when Steve is still sticky with sweat. But the grip that Steve has him in is even tighter than before, and then he realises that the super soldier is trying to comfort _him_.  
  
"Tony…I am _so_ sorry—"  
  
"Cheating," Tony states, and he tries to push Steve away. "Cheating! I told you to stop saying that dreadful word—oh god, I'm going to break out in hives—"  
  
There is a laugh near his ear and Steve releases him, smiling. Tony shoots him a glare and wipes at his jaw, grimacing. "Now Pep will accuse me of sleeping with you—hell, I _smell_ like you now."  
  
"An improvement," Steve says, and Tony gasps.  
  
"I take back that very gay hug."  
  
Steve only smiles, this time bashful. "Thank you, Tony."  
  
"For existing?" Tony grins, patting the other's shoulder. "You're very much welcome."  
  
"For giving me a new home," Steve corrects, and pushes himself off the floor.  
  
He wanders off to strip the clothes around his hands, and Tony follows behind him, waiting for the super soldier to move the broken punching bag to the side even though he assures the guy someone will take care of it later.  
  
A thought passes through Tony's mind when they wait for the elevator.  
  
"Before you crashed into the water, you spoke to Peggy," Tony says, and this time he looks at Steve's face. "I have the recording of that. You can listen to it, if you want."  
  
"I…do," The super soldier bites his bottom lip, and nods slowly. "But not today…maybe…maybe some other time when I…"  
  
"Sure."  
  
"Tony…" Steve starts after a while. "Will you…listen to it with me?"  
  
"Just as long as you don't cry on me again, Rogers."  
  
Steve laughs. "I can't make a promise that I can't keep."  
  
"Why not?" Tony jostles his shoulder, grinning as they step into the elevator. "Those are the best ones."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fuck I wrote everything in past tense and then I tried to change it to present 'cause it sounded weird but I think I screwed it up more I AM SORRY FOR MY BRAIN
> 
> I actually finished the entire fic some time ago on FF.net but because I am writing a sequel that has now spanned > 23 k words I wanted to space this out a little. And said sequel has taken nearly three months and Johnny Storm is the cause for my inability to finish it. :(


End file.
